Riders on the Storm
by WaywardDaughter18
Summary: The Winchesters rescue a girl they find in the woods. She has more than one secret. This is an AU with some canon that takes place during season 1. CONTENT WARNING: Dark themes- character death, violence, child abuse and neglect. Rated M for violence and swearing. Chapter titles are song titles or lyrics from the band 'The Doors'.
1. You're Lost Little Girl

SUMMARY: The Winchesters rescue a girl they find in the woods. She has more than one secret. This is an AU with some canon and elements from seasons 1 & 2\. CONTENT WARNING: Dark themes- character death, violence, child abuse and neglect. Rated M for violence and swearing.

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE: In real life, shock can become a life-threatening condition in a matter of minutes that needs to be treated at a hospital. For the sake of the story, I fictionalized some of the symptoms and treatments.**

 **This is a plot bunny that came to me when I was laying in the dark being tormented by migraines that wouldn't stop.**

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"Alex! Alex! Come here, I need your help! Alex!"

I could hear his voice calling to me, and I wanted to find him, but I was scared. I was trying to pick my way carefully through all the trees and bushes, trying to hear which direction his voice was coming from- he had tried to teach me how to be able to tell, but I couldn't get it. So I just kept walking, trying to see by the light of the partially-full moon.

I hated the woods. I hated the bugs, and tripping over roots, and all the little noises at night. Scary things were in the woods. Dad had insisted that we _had_ to come out to this cabin, so that he could look for something, and then he had left me. _Again._ I had been alone for over a day, and I had been so scared at night that I had cried for hours. The flashlight had stopped working and I couldn't figure out how to light the lantern and anyways he had told me not to try because it was a oil lamp and it could be dangerous. And I wasn't supposed to mess with matches either.

"Dad, where are you?" I called softly, "Dad?"

I could hear branches cracking and sounds of movement. I froze for a moment, getting even more scared. I listened, and peered into the semi- darkness, trying to see if there was anything out there moving around. After a few moments I kept walking. Branches caught at my sleeves and my shirt, and I walked through a spiderweb and had to bite my lip so that I wouldn't scream.

"Alex! Aleeeeeex! Help me!"

"Dad I'm trying!" I called, "Where are you?"

I stumbled through the woods faster, his voice had sounded closer to me. I tripped over a log that was across the path and caught myself on a tree, my palms scraping against the rough bark. All of a sudden something changed. I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand up and I shivered as my skin broke out in goosebumps. Then I realized what was different- all the little noises in the forest had stopped. The crickets and peepers had gone silent. I looked around and stood up, and started to walk again, even though I was _really_ scared now. Something was _wrong._

And then I was knocked flat on my back, so hard that the breath huffed out of me. Some- _thing_ \- was on top of me, a creature that was the shape of a man. In the light of the moon I could see grayish skin and red eyes, and as it leaned over me I smelled its horrible hot breath, like rotting meat, and I felt it grab at me. It made a low growling sound that didn't sound like anything I'd ever heard before.

I lifted my arms up and fought it, trying to remember what Dad had taught me about defending myself. I could hear other noises now, more branches cracking and what sounded like running footsteps, and as it pulled at me I screamed. It tried to lift me up and drag me, but I twisted in its grasp, feeling long claws against my arms. I noticed that it had a long open cut in its shoulder that dripped dark fluid down its arm.

"Hey!" I heard a shout, and the creature stopped and looked up, then it bared its sharp teeth.

There was the loud sound of a gunshot that echoed off of the trees, and the creature jerked backwards and dropped me.

I screamed again in fear as I saw a hole open up in the creature's chest and dark fluid began to seep out. It looked down and reached for me again, and I tried to scrabble backwards on my hands and feet like a crab, panting.

"Shit, it didn't work, what now!" I heard someone say loudly.

"Dean, try this! Catch!" I heard a deeper voice shout.

The creature bent over me, and then it looked up as there were more sounds of movement, coming closer. It raised its arm up and I saw the freakishly long fingers that ended in sharp claws, and then the hand was coming at me, and I felt sharp pain across my chest and arm as it tried to grab me again. I screamed louder as I fought it again.

There was another loud bang, and something light flew through the air and hit the creature, lighting up the middle of its chest. It straightened up and arched its back, roaring in pain, and then burst into flames and collapsed backwards.

I thought I heard someone say, "Yahtzee!" and I wanted to say, why are you talking about a game, but I could barely think because of the pain. I could feel liquid seeping out of my shirt from the burning lines on my chest.

I looked up and uttered a short shriek as two shadows came towards me and then turned into humans- men.

"You okay kid?" one man asked, squatting down next to me. The other one looked at the burning corpse of the creature and then walked over to us.

"Are you injured?" he asked, shining a flashlight on me. When the beam hit my shirt, I heard them both take deep breaths. I looked down, and the front of my shirt was soaked in red.

"Sammy, she's hurt bad," the guy next to me said, "Okay, I gotta see what we're dealing with here, I've gotta lift your shirt, all right?" he said to me, in a voice that was trying too hard to be calm.

He gently moved my arm, and then lifted the hem of my shirt up. I saw him look up at the guy who had the flashlight trained on me.

"What do you think?" he asked.

"Gonna need stitches," the standing man said, "Possibly a _lot_ of stitches."

"All right," the guy next to me moved my shirt back down and looked at me. "We're going to take care of you, you've got to come with us. Can you walk?" he stood, and I felt him take my hand and pull me up. I tried to walk but then my legs were shaky and I collapsed.

"Oh, hey there, I gotcha," the man said, grabbing at me, and I felt his arms slide under my legs and around my back, and he lifted me up and started to walk, carrying me out of the woods. I was shaking and getting cold, and I felt confused. He was holding me against his chest, and I leaned my head against him and felt the cool leather of his jacket on my cheek.

I heard a loud sound in the woods, off to the side, and my body jerked in fear. I cried out and then whimpered.

"Hey, it's all right," the guy said, tightening his arms around me. "I gotcha, you're safe with us."

I clutched at his jacket. "Where—where are we? Where we goin' ?" I asked, continuing to whimper.

"We're gonna get you patched up, all right?" the man said, looking down at me, "Just hang on."

I heard static and the other man talking, "Hey, we found a little girl in the woods, she's injured. We're taking her to the car right now."

I heard more static and then a tinny voice, "-be there soo—not far—parking lot-" I realized they were using walkie-talkies.

By then we were walking out of the woods, into a parking lot. I was shivering by then, but I felt sweaty too.

A tall man with dark hair and a beard met us walking up to a car. The guy carrying me set me on the trunk of a black car, and the bearded man looked at me.

"Report," he said briefly, glancing at the guys.

"We got it, I used the flare gun and that burned it up. It had an open wound on its shoulder, and was trying to drag her away. It scratched her across the chest and arm when it tried to grab her," the guy who had been carrying me told him.

"All right, let's take a look," the bearded man stepped forward and reached for me.

I gasped and leaned back, away from his hands.

"It's all right, I've got to check out your injuries," he said. His voice was deep and no-nonsense. He lifted my shirt and looked at the cuts, and then touched the skin on my stomach. He let the hem of my shirt fall and then looked me in the eyes. He took a small light out of his pocket and turned it on, saying, "Follow the light with your eyes, head still." I did so, and he then turned it off and pocketed it, and then took my wrist and held it, glancing at his watch. Then he put my hand back in my lap.

He turned to the guys standing there. "Heart rate's up, pupils are enlarged, skin is pale and clammy- she's getting shocky. Turn the heat on in the car; Dean, front seat, prop her feet up; Sam, get the blanket out of the trunk and the med kit. We've got to staunch the bleeding before we go anywhere."

The taller guy opened the front door of the car and turned on the ignition. The car's engine came to life with a low grumble. The guy who had carried me out of the woods picked me up off of the car, sliding into the front seat and holding me on his lap. He leaned over, turning the heat on and adjusting the vents.

He looked down at me. "What's your name, kiddo?" he asked.

"Not s'posed to talk to strangers," My voice was hoarse from the screaming I had done earlier. I could hear the bearded man talking to the other guy outside; it sounded like he was giving him instructions.

"Well, my name is Dean Winchester, and that sasquatch out there is my brother Sam. Now we're not strangers, you wanna tell me your name?"

"Zan," I murmured.

"Zan? That's...interesting."

The taller guy, Sam I guess, leaned into the car and handed in a large blanket. He helped Dean get it wrapped around me, and then Dean moved my legs up so that my feet were on the back of the seat.

"Dad told me to prop your feet up," he told me, "It'll help the blood get back to your head."

"Where's my dad?" I asked.

"Your dad? We didn't see him. You out here with your family?"

"Just my dad, he wanted to get something out of the cabin. M'thirsty," I said faintly.

Dean leaned forward and called, "Hey, Dad, can we get her some water? She's thirsty."

The man with the beard poked his head into the car. "Not just yet, we need to keep an eye on her symptoms. I'll check her pulse again in a couple of minutes."

He moved out of the car and Dean looked down at me. "That's our Dad, John. He did some medic work in the Marines."

"John Winchester?" I asked.

"Yeah," he said, moving my legs so that my feet were higher on the seat.

"John Winchester is a asshole," I mumbled, repeating something I had heard my dad say more than once.

My vision started to go gray, with dancing black spots in it, and then it was like a black curtain came down over my sight.


	2. Into This World We're Thrown

I woke up in a bed, in a room I'd never seen before. I sat up quickly, feeling scared, and then yelped because of the pain in my chest.

There was a woman sitting at a desk across the room, paging through a book, and she stood up and came over to the bed. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a ponytail.

"Easy now, lay back," she said, taking my upper arm and easing me back down onto the mattress. "Don't want to split your stitches."

"Where am I? Who are you? Where's my dad?" I asked her.

"Whoa, one at a time, kid," she chuckled, "Let me let my mom know you're awake."

She walked to the door of the room and leaned out into the hallway. "Mom? Mom! She's awake!"

The woman came back over and pulled the chair from the desk over and set it next to the bed. She sat down and looked at me. She wasn't a adult, like I had thought, but a young woman, maybe college age?

A woman with long brown hair came into the room. She was wearing a white tank top with a blue plaid shirt over it, and she was drying her hands on a dish towel. She flipped the towel over her shoulder and walked to the side of the bed.

"Hey, darlin', how you feeling?" she asked.

"My chest hurts," I said. "Where am I?"

"You're safe now, darlin'," the woman said, "Are you thirsty or hungry?"

"No, I want you to tell me where I am and who you are! And where my dad is!" I said petulantly. She gave a small chuckle in the back of her throat.

"Well, my name is Ellen, and this is my daughter Jo, and you're in my roadhouse. You told the boys you were with your daddy at a cabin?" Ellen glanced at Jo, who had leaned forward and was watching me.

"Yeah, there's a cabin in those woods...what's a roadhouse?"

Ellen chuckled again. "It's like a bar and a restaurant and a meetin' place all rolled into one." she told me, "You were with your daddy? Where's your mama?"

"She's a angel in heaven," I said, "Can I have something to drink?"

"Sure, baby. Jo, get her some water. You want ice in it?" Ellen asked.

"Yes please," I said, watching Jo leave the room. I looked back at Ellen, who was looking at me.

"When did your mama pass?" she asked quietly.

"Three years ago," I answered promptly.

"I'm so sorry, darlin', losing a parent is always real hard."

Jo entered the room again and handed me a tall glass of ice water. It felt good against my raspy throat.

"What's your name, and your daddy's name?" Ellen asked.

"My name is Zan...and... my Dad is Fletch."

"Zan? That's different. What kinda name is that?"

"It's my name," I said, and both Ellen and Jo laughed at that.

"Fair enough," Ellen said, "Is Fletch your Daddy's first or last name?"

"I dunno, that's what people call him," I said stubbornly.

Ellen sighed. "All right, when you go to school, what does the teacher call you?"

"Uh, I haven't been to school in a while," I said.

Ellen and Jo exchanged glances.

"My dad, he, uh, home-schools me," I lied smoothly.

"What does your daddy do for a living?" Ellen asked suddenly.

"He's uh, he's a, uh, traveling salesman," I told her the lie that dad had told me to tell people if they asked.

Ellen looked at me for a long moment. "What's your full name, kiddo? Hmm?"

Dad had told me to hold out on answering any questions about who we were for as long as possible.

"My...full name?" I acted like I didn't understand.

"When you get in trouble, what does your daddy say?" Jo asked, and her eyes sparkled mischevously, "When I misbehave, my mama here says, 'Joanna Beth Harvelle'! What does your daddy say?" she grinned at me.

"He says, 'Alexandra Sophia Fletcher'!" I told her.

Ellen nodded. "Fletcher..." she said, "your daddy's name Josiah? Josiah Fletcher?"

"Uh-" I looked at her, then looked down at the glass of water in my hands and nodded. I took a long drink of water and then looked up at her.

"Where's my dad? Did they find him yet?"

"Who?"

"Those guys who rescued me. Did they find him?"

"Was he missing?" Ellen asked.

"Well, he, uh, we got to the cabin and he was lookin' around for a long time, and then he said he hadda go out. And he left, and didn't...he didn't come back."

"For how long, darlin'?"

"I dunno- it got dark, and I was scared 'cause the flashlight went out an' I couldn't light the lantern, and then it was light again when I woke up, and I stayed there all day waiting, but he didn't come back...and then when it got dark out again I started to hear him calling me."

"Did you leave the cabin at all during that time?"

I shook my head. "I—I don't like the woods," I said quietly.

"Well, it's a good thing you stayed put, at least you didn't get lost."

"But he was calling for me, he needed help!" I told her. I felt like crying. "I couldn't find him! I couldn't tell- I tried to listen and tell which direction, but my tracking skills are for shit," That was what dad always said when he tried to teach me.

Ellen and Jo chuckled briefly, glancing at each other.

"How come you told us your name was Zan, if it's Alexandra?" Jo asked me.

" 'Cause Zan... that's my name. That's what...she...called me."

"That's what who called you? Your mama?" Ellen asked.

"No...my...sister. She's a angel with my mom." I looked down at the glass again and took another long drink of water, willing myself not to cry.

"Oh, baby, I'm sorry," Ellen said sympathetically, "did she pass at the same time?"

I nodded, staring at the quilt that covered my legs.

"What was her name?" Jo asked softly.

I looked up at Jo. "Isabella," I told her, "We called each other Zan and Iz. Well, she called me Zan cause she couldn't say Alex, and I called her Iz, just...just 'cause."

I looked at Ellen again, and it looked like she had tears in her eyes. "Alex and Izzy, I've heard of you two," she told me.

"How?" I asked, looking up at her in surprise.

"All right, it's time for some truth tellin' here. Your Daddy's not a travelin' salesman, he's a hunter. He hunts supernatural creatures, and he drags you along with him, don't he?" Ellen was giving me a 'mom look' and I nodded, knowing I'd better not lie. "He took you outta school after...after your mama and sister passed, and he takes you everywhere."

"He wants to keep me safe," I told her, "He couldn't trust that I'd be safe at school."

Ellen shook her head. "Oh, I know the feelin', believe me. My husband Bill is a hunter, and the fellas that rescued you are hunters too. But I'm guessin' he doesn't home-school you, what with all the travel he does."

"How did you hear about me and...my sister?"

"Hunters grapevine. They all talk about each other and share information, and your names've come up once or twice," Ellen shifted and glanced at Jo, "You hungry? Want to come downstairs and I'll make you something to eat?"

"Yes please," I said, sitting up and swinging my legs over the edge of the bed.

"All right, take it easy, you've got a lot of stitches."

"Can I see?" I looked down and realized that I was wearing a huge t-shirt with a picture of a building and some words across the front of it.

"Sure, don't be scared, now," Ellen lifted the shirt up. I had two long rows of neat stitches diagonal across my chest, and there was a long white bandage next to them. My arm was also bandaged up neatly.

"That's a lotta stitches," I said.

"Courtesy of Sam Winchester, he's got the steadiest hands and neatest stitches of any hunter I know," Ellen said.

I stood up slowly and the t-shirt fell to below my knees.

"Where's my clothes?" I asked.

"In the wash, they had blood all over," Ellen said. "Let's go downstairs now. What are you in the mood for, darlin', a hamburger? Grilled cheese? Or I could make you breakfast if you want."

They led me down a set of stairs, through a hallway, into a large kitchen. There was an open door that led out to a large room that looked like a bar; I could hear music playing.

"I'll start setting up to open," Jo said, and left the room.

"Thank you, darlin'," Ellen called after her. She gestured to a large wooden table.

"Go on and sit. What would you like?"

"Uh, peanut butter and jelly's fine," I said.

She looked at me. "You sure? I can make you something hot if you like."

I shook my head. She bustled around, going into a small room off of the kitchen and bringing out jars of peanut butter and jelly and a loaf of bread. In a couple of minutes she set a plate in front of me with a sandwich on it.

"Thank you," I said awkwardly. I started to peel off the crusts. She put everything away and then came back to watch me.

"Why'd you take the crusts off like that? You could've asked me to, I'd've cut them off."

I felt embarrassed. "I have to...make it into a circle," I said, looking down.

"Why?"

"That's the way..she likes them," I said quietly.

"Who?"

"Iz," I looked up at Ellen, "She only eats circles, not squares."

"I see," she said evenly, "The roadhouse is gonna open up soon, and you can't be in there cause you're underage, so we're gonna put you in the family room with a movie. What do you like to watch?"

I shrugged. "Whatever."

"We'll find something for you, and I'll check on you every once in a while, all right?"

"Yes'm," I said.

A few minutes later I was in a room down the hall. I sat on a large overstuffed sofa while Ellen flipped through the tv channels.

"You like Disney movies?" she asked. "The one about the bugs is set to come on."

"Sure," I replied.

"All righty. Bathroom's down the hall on the left, and I'll check on you in a while and see how you're doin'. If you get tired you can go back to sleep." She motioned to the back of the sofa, which had a couple of knitted afghans folded across the back.

"Thank you, ma'am," I told her.

She smiled at me and left the room. I'd seen the bug movie a gazillion times already but I watched it again, smiling at the parts that I remembered had made Iz laugh.

I looked around the room when a commercial came on. The room was crowded, a loveseat and two large recliners were across from the sofa, and one wall was lined with bookshelves. There was a large desk in the corner with a computer on it, and two large cork boards that had lots of photos and newspaper clippings pinned to it. There were stacks of books and piles of papers all over the desk and the coffee table and just about every other flat surface in the room. I knew better than to touch anything.

A while later, Jo appeared in the doorway with a tray. She walked over to me and set it down on the coffee table in front of me. "I figured you'd need some popcorn while you're watching the movie," she told me with a smile, "Did the grasshoppers get there yet? I love the second in command, he's so funny," she chuckled and handed me a big bowl of warm popcorn.

I shook my head, "Uh-uh."

"Here's some apple juice in case you're thirsty, and some sugar cookies too." she said.

"Thank you," I told her.

She looked at me. "You doin' okay in here?"

"Yes'm," I said.

She laughed. "Oh, I ain't a ma'am yet, don't call me that," She stood up. "Someone'll be in to check on you in a while."

The movie was almost over when I heard voices and footsteps in the hallway. Ellen entered the room, followed by two of the tallest men I'd ever seen. One was wearing a brown leather jacket and had short brown hair and the other, taller man had on a brown corduroy jacket and had longer dark brown hair that came down to his ears.

"Here's the patient," Ellen said. "Zan, this is Sam and Dean Winchester, who rescued you. Do you remember?"

"I 'member," I said, "But I didn't get a good look 'cause it was dark."

"We brought your bags from the cabin," the one with the leather jacket said. I remembered his name was Dean, he was the one who had carried me out of the woods. He put my duffle and backpack on the floor next to the sofa.

"Thank you," I said, feeling shy.

The other, taller guy, Sam, came over to the sofa. "How are you doing? How do the stitches feel?"

"My chest hurts when I move around," I told him, "Where's my dad?"

He glanced at Dean and Ellen. "We, uh, we haven't found him yet," He looked at me for a moment. "Can we ask you some questions?" he said in a quieter voice.

"O-okay," I said hesitantly. He sat down next to me, and Dean perched on the arm of the loveseat across from us. Ellen took one of the recliners.

"So, what were you doing in the cabin?" Sam asked.

"My dad brought us there, he said he had to find something," I replied.

"Do you know what he was looking for?" Sam tilted his head slightly.

I shook my head. "Uh-uh," I said, "He doesn't tell me much."

"Was he on a hunt, do you know?" Dean spoke up. I looked over at him. He was watching me intently; his eyes were very green.

I shook my head again. "I dunno, he doesn't tell me 'bout that stuff neither."

I saw Sam and Dean look at each other, and it seemed like they were talking to each other without their mouths. Iz and I had used to do that too, I could look at her and just know what she was thinking.

Sam looked back at me, "How long were you there?"

"Umm...we got there in the afternoon, and he looked around for a long time, and then he left the cabin and it got to be night time. When I woke up next day he still wasn't back, and then at night I heard him calling for me, so I went to look for him."

"So he left you alone in the cabin at night," Dean asked, "and the next day too?"

"Yessir," I said.

Sam shook his head and looked at Dean. "Sounds familiar," he said sarcastically.

"Life as a hunter's kid," Dean shrugged, and Sam scoffed.

"I heard my dad calling me in the woods right before...right before that...creature jumped me," I said, "How come you can't find him? Shouldn't he've been nearby?"

Sam and Dean looked at each other and did their "talking without words" thing again.

"Well, uh-" Dean started.

"And what was that thing? I never saw anything like it before in all 'a the books I looked at," I looked at Sam expectantly.

"You've read a lot of books about hunting lore, I take it?" a smile played across his lips.

I blushed. "No, I uh, just, I seen a couple and looked through 'em," I didn't want to tell them that I'd also looked through my dad's journal, he had caught me looking once. I knew that a hunter's journal was like a sacred book to them and you weren't supposed to just look through one without asking, but curiosity had gotten the better of me. Afterwards I had swore to never do that again.

"It's better that little girls don't know that sort of thing," Ellen said crisply, "We just want to get your daddy back safe and sound," she stood up, "I need to go check on the bar, y'all coming?"

"Uh, sure," Sam looked at me, "We'll talk more later, and I'll check those stitches, all right?"

"Yessir," I agreed.

Sam and Dean stood up.

"Oh, uh, thanks for rescuing me," I shifted on the sofa, feeling shy again, "and, uh, fixing me up." I put my hand on my chest.

"No problem, kid," Dean gave me a lopsided grin, and they followed Ellen out of the room.

I woke up in the morning, in a bed in a small room. Light was streaming in through a partially opened blind. My duffle and backpack were on the floor, and I got up and opened up my duffle to get some clean clothes out. There was a leather string with a weird looking metal pendant with a big stone on it, mixed in with my clothes, and I felt it fall to the bottom of the bag as I rooted around looking for clean undies. I got dressed, slowly, because moving too fast pulled on the stitches and made them hurt. Then I made the bed and folded the t-shirt, setting it on the end of the bed.

The room was so small that the only things in here were the bed, a small dresser, and a straight-backed chair. There was a tiny closet next to the dresser. There were books piled up on the dresser, I thought about looking at one, but I knew you weren't supposed to touch things that belonged to other people. I opened my backpack and got out one of my coloring books and bag of crayons, and set to coloring while I waited for someone to come and get me.


	3. A Feast of Friends

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is Chapter 3, I published Chapter 2 on 6/22 but the website is not showing the update on my page and it wasn't on the updates front page either.**

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There was a soft tap on the door, and then it opened. Jo poked her head in, and then opened the door.

"Hey there," she said, "Didn't think you'd be awake. You want to come down for breakfast?"

I nodded, and quickly cleaned up the crayons, putting them and the coloring book back into my backpack. I had been taught not to leave a mess, and to be packed and ready to go at a moment's notice.

I followed Jo downstairs to the kitchen; I could smell bacon frying as we walked down the hall.

Ellen turned from the stove and smiled at me. "Good morning, honey. This here's Ash," she motioned to a man who was sitting at the table. He had reddish-brown hair that was short in the front and cascaded in long strands down his back. He was slumped over a mug, his eyes half-open.

When he saw me he sat up straight and said, "Oh, hey, munchkin alert."

"I told you we had a guest yesterday, Ash," Ellen said.

"You didn't say she was a munchkin!" he grinned at me.

"It's okay to sit down, Ash don't bite," Ellen told me.

"Well, not much. Hey!" he protested as Ellen swatted at him with her dish towel.

"You want some bacon and eggs?" Ellen asked me, flipping the towel back over her shoulder.

"Yes, please," I said.

"You like orange juice?" Jo asked, putting a glass in front of me. I nodded, and she picked up a carton and filled the glass.

"Thank you," I murmured, taking a drink.

Ash was watching me. "So where'd you come from?" he asked.

"The Winchesters rescued her, her daddy's missing in the woods about 12 miles from here," Ellen told him.

"Oh, the Winchesters," Ash said, "Papa Bear, Sam-I-Am, and Mr. Intensity."

"'Mr. Intensity'?" Jo asked skeptically.

"Yeah, dude, Dean's eyes? When he looks at you it's like they're going right through your brain, into your soul. Man, I'll bet he can flirt the panties right off of every-"

"Ash, how do you want your eggs?" Ellen interrupted him loudly, giving him a 'mom look'.

"Oh, uhhh...scrambled's fine," Ash said, looking sheepish.

"How bout you, Zan?" Ellen looked at me.

"That's fine with me," I agreed.

"All right then, I'll make a mess of scrambled," Ellen turned back to the stove.

Jo set plates and forks out, and then a dish with butter on it. She tapped Ash's head. "Do some work around here, would you, and butter the toast I give you?"

"Oh, uh, sure," Ash shifted in his chair.

"Your Daddy's coming back today, probably be here this afternoon, with Singer," Ellen said to Jo, "They finished their hunt."

"Good, I'm assuming it was...successful," Jo said.

"Well, no- one's injured, I would've heard about that," Ellen turned the eggs in the pan.

"I wish they'd let me go with them on one," Jo muttered.

"Don't you start that again, girl," Ellen said firmly, "You are _going_ to college, and that's _that."_

Jo rolled her eyes. "Mama, I graduated two years ago, it's a little late to start now. Besides, you need me here."

"It's _never_ too late for college, you should ask Sam Winchester about the admissions process. And I can do just fine on my own, your Daddy helps when he's around, and so does Ash," Ellen smiled at him.

"Oh, Sam, Mr. College Drop-Out, like he's an expert," Jo scoffed.

"At least he went, and don't you roll your eyes at me again, missy," Ellen scolded, "He's got some knowledge about how to apply and get the ball rolling. Talk to him, would you?"

"Maybe," Jo brought a stack of toast over to the table and handed it to Ash, and then got herself a refill of coffee.

Ellen turned and set a platter of bacon in the middle of the table, and then smacked Ash's hand as he reached for some. He looked at her with a hurt expression.

"Guests first," she said sternly, "Go on, darlin'," she said gently to me.

I took a piece and put it on my plate. Ellen turned back to the stove and then came back to the table with a large bowl of steaming scrambled eggs. She set it down with a large serving spoon and then sat down next to Ash. I served myself a spoonful of eggs.

"One or two?" Ash looked at me with a raised eyebrow.

" 'Scuse me?" I asked.

"Toast," he said.

"Oh. One, please," I replied. He handed me one slice and I took it and murmured, "Thank you."

Ellen looked at my plate. "You didn't put a lot of food on your plate, you not hungry?" she asked me.

I shrugged. "I don't eat a lot."

She kept looking at me. "Well, you can take more if you want it, all right? And you let me know if you get hungry later, kitchen's always open."

"The kitchen's not always open for me!" Ash protested, looking hurt again.

"You aren't a growing girl who's got legs as skinny as twigs either," Ellen retorted, "This one needs to get some meat on her bones," she gestured to me.

"Fair point," Ash said, serving himself a large spoonful of eggs.

After I tore the crusts off of my toast, I looked up to see all three of them watching me.

Ash raised his eyebrows.

"I have to make it into a circle, that's the way my sister eats it. Ate it. I just...got used to doing it like that is all," I said defensively.

"Sure, whatever floats your boat," Ash said.

"Why a circle?" Jo asked.

" 'Cause she didn't like squares. Squares have corners, and corners are dangerous," I explained.

"Why are corners dangerous?" Ellen asked in a quiet voice.

I felt like I had said too much. " 'Cause they have—they have sharp edges, you know?"

Ash shrugged. "Makes sense to me."

For the next several minutes it was quiet in the kitchen as we ate.

Ash finished first, taking his plate over to the sink. "Ladies, it's been real. I've go to go check on my machines," he gave an elaborate bow and left the room.

"Jo, can you clear up these dishes? I've got to start on the food for tonight, we're going to have a lot of people here." Ellen stood up.

"Sure, Mom," Jo said agreeably.

"Can I help?" I asked timidly.

"Well, let's see, I don't want you to hurt yourself, so, hmm..." Ellen looked at me, considering, "you mind peeling potatoes? I've got to make some potato salad, and I need a few pounds peeled."

"Sure, I can do that," I told her.

"All right, good. You let me know if anything hurts, or starts to hurt, and then you stop. Don't want you to pop any stitches or anything."

Ellen brought me a trash can and a peeler and a huge bag of potatoes. I sat and peeled for a long time, listening to Ellen and Jo chat about different things. Every once in a while one of them would ask me a question. I didn't have much to say, though, life when you're a kid traveling around with a parent who hunts doesn't give you many experiences that you can talk about. I spent a lot of time in motel rooms watching bad t.v. or outside on a playground if there happened to be one. When Dad was in the room he'd let me help him clean his weapons and practice field-stripping the guns. I had gotten pretty good with the Browning.

After I had peeled a mountain of potatoes, Ellen told me I could go out back. There was a large black top parking pad directly behind the kitchen, and some big metal dumpsters along the side of the building, but then beyond that was an open grassy area, and then woods. There was a large wooden playground structure in the grassy area that was worn looking, and all the plastic parts on it were faded by the sun.

"My daddy built this for me several years ago," Jo told me. She had walked me out here. "Everything's still sound, just take a stick with you when you go into the top part, the spiders like to build webs in the corners. And don't go into the woods at all, ya hear?"

"Yes'm, I mean okay," I grinned at her, remembering that she had said she wasn't a ma'am. She grinned back at me and then turned to walk back to the building.

There was two swings on the end, and next to them two of those rings to hang from, and then a two-story structure on the end with a small ladder. If there was spiders up top I wasn't going to go up there.

I sat in a swing and started to swing a little bit, but the motion of my body made the stitches in my chest hurt, so I just sat there and pushed myself with my feet a little bit.

"Sorry, Iz," I said to myself. Sometimes when I was alone I liked to pretend that she was with me still, and sometimes I could almost believe it. She had loved to be pushed on the swings, but she never got how to pump her legs to be able to swing herself. For some reason this had made Dad mad, and he would yell at her to keep trying, which would make her cry. Mom said she was only a little kid and she didn't know how yet, and Dad would say she was just being lazy and stubborn. They used to argue about Iz a lot and the stuff they said she could and couldn't do. Then Iz would come to me and I'd make her feel better while they were yelling.

I heard the sound of car engines coming closer, and then car doors slamming out front. I got off the swing and went inside, through the kitchen to the bar. Ellen and Jo were there, and there were two men standing near the door. Ellen was hugging one of them. I turned and went upstairs, feeling like I was spying on them. I got out a coloring book again and sat on my bed and colored for a while.

In a while, the door opened, and Ellen came into the room. "There you are," she said, "You disappeared on us, last I saw Jo was leadin' you out back. Listen, the men want to ask you some questions about the cabin and your daddy, all right?"

I nodded, and put my things away, then I followed her downstairs and into the bar.

"Here she is," Ellen said. We walked across the room to a pool table, where a couple of men were standing together.

There was a large map spread out on the table, with red Xs marked in some places. The men all looked at me expectantly, and I felt my stomach flutter with nervousness.

Ellen must have felt me get nervous, because she put her hand on my shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze.

"Let me make some introductions," she said smoothly, "That there's Bill Harvelle, he's my husband," He was a shorter man with a stocky build and a full blonde beard, "Next to him is Bobby Singer," he was slightly taller, with a thick vest and a worn baseball cap, with a beard that was starting to go to salt- and- pepper, "And on the end there is John Winchester," he was the tall man with dark hair and beard that had been at the parking lot when I had been rescued. Sam and Dean stood next to him, off to the side.

"And you already've been introduced to Sam and Dean," she said.

I looked up at John Winchester. "Th-thank you for rescuing me," I said timidly. Mom had taught me when I was little to always say please and thank you to people. Dad had told me that you _always_ thanked hunters for what they did, because they didn't get enough thanks in the real world.

Mr. Winchester had what seemed like a stern look on his face, but it softened when I said that. "You're welcome," he said, with a small smile, "Now, can you tell us where you came from before you got to the cabin?"

"Uh, I don't know the road names," I said, "We were at a place...a place..." I wracked my brain, trying to remember the name, "The motel had a cowboy on a saddle on the sign," I told him, "Route 601, I...I 'member hearing him say that when we got there."

Mr. Winchester glanced at the other men. "Route 601 is two states away," he said.

"How long did it take you to get here, from there? When did you leave?" Mr. Harvelle asked.

"Um, I dunno," I shrugged, "It took a long long time, I fell asleep. Dad drove through the night and we only stopped for a couple hours."

"Do you remember where you stopped?" Mr. Singer asked me.

I shook my head. "It was a, a Gas-n-Sip, in the parking lot, Dad slept in the truck."

"Do you remember seeing any exit signs or route names?" Mr. Winchester asked.

I shook my head again.

"Hon, do you remember the last hunt your dad was on? Did he tell you anything about it?" Mr. Harvelle looked at me and leaned on the edge of the pool table.

"Uh, n-no, he didn't ever tell me, and I wasn't s'posed to, you know, listen in or nothin'," I gulped, feeling more nervous. Sometimes I did listen in, I couldn't help it since he was talking on his phone right next to me in the truck. But then if I said anything about what I'd heard him talk about, he'd get angry. It was best to just act like I hadn't heard anything at all. I didn't know if I'd get into trouble for admitting that I did listen in sometimes.

"Is the name Daniel Elkins familiar?" Mr. Winchester was looking at me- no, he was watching me, and his eyes were very dark and intense. It made my stomach curl up in a nervous knot.

"Uh- no sir," I shook my head.

"You don't recall hearing your father talk about him at all?" Mr. Winchester asked, leaning forward a little bit.

"Uh-uh," I said, and I dropped my eyes, I couldn't keep looking at him.

"Dad, she already said no," Sam said.

No one said anything for a long moment, and then Mr. Singer spoke up. "Do you know what your dad was searching for at the cabin?"

"No, he was just...looking for something. He tore the place up lookin', tried to pull up some floorboards to find a secret hiding place." As soon as I said it, I knew I shouldn't have. Dad was protective of his hunts and what he was doing. He didn't like to work with other people or share information.

I saw the men glance at each other. "Did he find anything?" Mr. Singer asked calmly, but there was energy underneath his voice.

"I—I don't think so. He was—he was really mad when he left. Well, frusterated. He was cussin' up a storm," I shut my mouth with a snap, realizing I shouldn't've said anything about that- he didn't like anyone knowing what went on, he said 'family business stays in the family, it ain't for no-one to know'.

"How long were you at the cabin?" Mr. Harvelle asked.

"I already talked about that," I said, "I told them," I pointed at Sam and Dean, "and I told Ellen," I looked up at her, "Do I have to keep talkin' about it?" a whine had crept into my voice.

"We just want to make sure you remember everything," Mr. Harvelle said smoothly, "When you talk about something more than once, it can bring up details that you forgot."

"Well, I don't know nothin' else, okay? I'm not _s'posed_ to, and I—I _can't_ remember!" I felt like crying now, and I shifted my feet and bit the inside of my cheek to keep the tears down.

"All right, sweetie, let's go get you a drink," Ellen put her hand on my shoulder and steered me out of the room. She pushed me to sit in a chair in the kitchen, and handed me a glass of apple juice.

"You okay?" she asked after I had drank some.

I nodded, staring at the table top.

"Sometimes the men can get a little intense when they're asking questions, I know. They're just tryin' to tease out as much information as they can, to help find your daddy," Ellen said.

The door opened and I gasped a little at the sudden movement. Mr. Harvelle stood there. "Y' all right, darlin'?" he asked me.

Ellen stepped next to me. "She'll be fine, she just got a little overwhelmed with all 'a you breathing down her neck. She's just a little girl, you all need to back off!"

"I know, I'm sorry," Mr. Harvelle looked at me with concern on his face, "I hope we didn't scare ya too much. We're just tryin' to find out everything we can. We can't find much clues about what he was hunting."

"Why don't y'all wash up," Ellen said to him, "We'll all have an early dinner together, before we open up for the night. Pull a bunch of tables together in the bar so's we can all fit."

"You sure you got enough food? I didn't know John and his boys was gonna be here too," Mr. Harvelle grinned at her.

"I always got enough, you know I make extra," Ellen said to him.

"All right, honey," he said, and he went to her and they kissed. He left the room, and she looked at me. "You go and get washed up too, and you can help set the table, all right?"

"Yes'm," I said, and went to wash my hands.

There was a flurry of activity as Jo and I brought out paper plates and plastic utensils and the men moved a bunch of tables together so that everyone could sit down. They kept trying to do a head count and people kept moving around.

"All right, we got nine here, I'm pretty sure," Mr. Harvelle said.

Ellen started directing people to bring food out. She had cooked a turkey and a ham, and there was potato salad and mashed potatoes and leafy green salad and glazed carrots and corn on the cob. She had also made biscuits, and then brought out some pies, which she set on the bar.

"Come sit down and eat, woman," Mr. Harvelle said to her, "There's enough food here already."

"I will, I just wanted to set these down out of the way," she took off her apron and laid it on the bar.

"Yeah, don't let Dean see them," Sam smirked.

"Is there pie?" Dean looked up from where he was piling mashed potatoes onto his plate.

"Yes, for dessert," Ellen said.

"What kind of pie?" Dean asked.

"Three point one four one five nine two six five three five eight nine seven nine," I blurted, and then I started to blush as everyone stopped and stared at me.

"What the-" Dean said.

"Pi," Sam grinned at me, "The digits of Pi. Where'd you learn that?"

"Umm, we had a old 'cyclopedia and Iz and me mem'rized the numbers from that. She knew more than me, though. We'd say it together whenever we'd hear the word pie," I ducked my head, feeling embarrassed.

"That's pretty cool," Sam said, "Nothing to be embarrassed about."

"Yeah, I'm impressed," Ash said.

"It doesn't take much to impress _you,_ though," Jo said disdainfully to him, tossing a biscuit at him, and everyone laughed. I was relieved that no-one had yelled at me; sometimes Iz would keep saying the numbers over and over again and it would piss Dad off and he would holler at her. She told me it helped her stay calm when she said them like that, but Dad didn't understand that, he just wanted it quiet.

"Soo...back to the pie, what kind is there?" Dean asked when the laughter had died down.

"Two apple and a peach," Ellen told him, "But you have to clean your plate before you get dessert," she teased, cocking an eyebrow at him.

"I don't think Dean will have a problem with cleaning his plate, he eats like a horse," Mr. Winchester said dryly.

"Well, when there's good food like this, hell yeah I'm gonna eat!" Dean said, "Pass me the ham, would you?"

I was sitting between Jo and Sam. "What would you like?" Jo asked me.

"Uh, turkey and mashed potatoes and carrots. And a biscuit please," I told her. "Not a lot, though."

Jo put food on my plate and then set it in front of me. "If that's too much, you don't have to eat it. We'll just pass whatever you don't eat down to Dean and he'll finish it," she teased.

"Huh? What?" Dean looked up from where he was slicing up a large hunk of turkey meat on his plate.

Jo chuckled. "Nothing, Dean, just keep eating."

"Thank you," I said to her. I ate quietly and listened to everyone talking around me. It had been a long time since I'd been around this many people and the noise made my head hurt a little bit. It had been just me and Dad for a couple of years now, and he always tried to find off-times to eat at a diner when there weren't a lot of people there. He said he didn't like to be around people and all the noise they made.

"Zan, you okay, darlin'?" Ellen asked me.

I nodded.

"Wait, I thought her name was Alex," Mr. Singer said, "How do you get Zan from Alex?"

"Zan is from Alex-ZAN-dra, my sister couldn't say Alex so she called me Zan," I explained.

He nodded. "I get it, makes sense."

"I'm done, I can't eat anymore," I said to Jo.

"All right, what do you want to do? The menfolk are going to clean up," Ellen said.

"I guess I'll go out back again," I told her.

"I'd like to check your stitches later," Sam said to me.

I nodded at him, and got up from the table. As I walked out the door, I heard Ellen say, "That child barely eats anything, it's concerning."

I got back on the swing and pushed myself a little, leaning my head back and feeling the sun on my face. I wondered if they were ever going to be able to find my Dad. He often said, "This hunt may be my last." Maybe this time he was right.


	4. Alive She Cried

**CONTENT WARNING: Implied psychological and physical abuse of a child in this chapter.**

~ ~ spn ~ ~ spn ~ ~ spn ~ ~

"Zan!" I heard Ellen calling me, "Zan, come on inside now."

I slowed the swing and then stopped it, and walked in to the kitchen. The dishwasher was humming and the windows were steamed up. Ellen was putting leftovers into plastic containers.

"I want you inside before we open for the night," she told me, "Sam'll be in to check you in just a minute."

I felt nervous, but I sat down at the kitchen table to wait.

"You want to read tonight? Jo found a box of some of her old books, she's got some Nancy Drews and some of the Little House books too. Or you can watch another movie," she offered.

I shrugged.

The kitchen door opened and Sam came in holding a small duffle bag, which he set on the table next to me and opened. "Hey, is it all right if I take a look at your stitches?"

"I, uh, I-" I said nervously, glancing at Ellen, "I don't—I don't- people aren't s'posed to touch me," I whispered, "I—I don't like it."

"I'll be right here with you, sweetie," Ellen told me.

"I'm not going to hurt you, okay, I just want to look," Sam said reassuringly, "I swear I won't do anything without telling you first, all right?"

"O-okay," I nodded. Ellen stepped next to me and took my hand.

"All right, I'm going to lift your shirt so I can look at your chest," Sam told me, looking at my face. I nodded, and he did so. He shifted so that he could see where the stitches went to the side a ways.

"I'm going to touch the end of the stitches, okay?"

I nodded again. He gently touched the stitch and the skin around it. "Looks good," he commented, "Now, I have to take off the bandages and put some fresh ones on, are you okay with that?"

"Uh- okay," I said hesitantly.

"All right, I'm going to remove the tape. This is going to feel like pulling, you let me know if it hurts," He slid his fingernail under the edge of the tape and started to pull it off of my skin.

I gasped a little at the uncomfortable sensation.

"Don't watch, darlin'," Ellen told me.

I turned my head and closed my eyes, and started to sing to myself a little bit. It was what I did for Iz when she was upset, it helped her to calm down.

 _"Oh show me the way to the next whiskey bar, oh don't ask why, oh, don't ask why..."_

Sam chuckled, "You like The Doors?"

"They're my dad's favorite," I said, "And that's my sister's favorite song."

Sam laughed, "The song about the whiskey bar is your sister's favorite song? What does your dad think about that?" He set the used bandage on the table.

"He thought it was funny," I said, "'Specially 'cause she couldn't say the words right."

"Okay, I'm going to clean your wounds with this," he showed me a packet of wipes, "it's going to feel cold."

I gasped a little bit, he was right, it was cold.

"All right, new bandage," Sam told me, "Why couldn't she say the words right?"

"She was only four years old," I explained, "She sang, _'oh moo, of balabama, we now mus' say_ _guh-byeeee'._ It always made Mom and Dad laugh."

Sam smiled, and Ellen said, "That's cute."

"She thought it was a song about the cow jumping over the moon," I told them, and smiled at the memory. Sometimes she'd sing it real loud, and we had been in a store one time and a old lady had gotten a shocked look on her face when Iz had sung the line about the whiskey bar.

"All right, I'm done with your chest, now I want to change the bandage on your arm," Sam said, "That okay?"

I nodded. He put my shirt down and then got out some more gauze pads. I watched as he wiped his hands with a wipe and then got out another roll of tape.

"My Dad doesn't like your Dad," I told Sam softly.

He chuckled, "Dean told me what you said in the car. There's a few people out there who have the same opinion, my Dad can be...hard to work with sometimes. He's gruff and he likes to be the leader and expects his orders to be obeyed, and some hunters aren't expecting that. But Dad was in the miltary, and he led a battalion of men in Vietnam, so he still has that mindset, you know?"

"My Dad says he's not there to make friends, he's there to kick some ass, I mean butt," I amended quickly. I wasn't supposed to say cusswords, even though he said them all the time. I glanced up to see if one of them was going to smack my head like Dad did when I said a cuss, and then I relaxed when they didn't.

"Yeah, that's kinda my Dad's thought process as well, get in, get the job done, trade information, no time for chit-chat or friendships. Okay, gonna take the bandage off your arm," he told me. The tape on my arm didn't hurt as much coming off.

"I'm going to lift your arm and touch the wounds," he said, and he took my wrist and turned my arm, and touched the skin around the cuts lightly, bending forward to look at them. He looked up at Ellen. "The edges have come together well but it's a little red, keep an eye on her and let me know if she starts running a fever," he told her.

He looked at me. "I'm going to clean it now, and then put a new bandage on."

He wiped the cuts gently and then opened some gauze packets and re-bandaged my arm. "There, all done," he said, picking up the wrappers and crumpling them together.

"Thanks, 'doc'," Ellen said with a smile, "You want a shot of somethin' from the bar?"

Sam shook his head, "No thanks, not supposed to drink on a case," he said.

"Um, thank you," I said shyly.

"You're welcome," he said, "Tell me, or Ellen, if you start feeling different, okay? Or if anything starts to hurt or you feel bad."

"Yessir," I nodded.

The kitchen door opened and Dean stuck his head in, "Hey Sammy, Ash created a computer program that shows all the caves in the area, we can try and pinpoint the Wendi- oh," his green eyes took in the open med kit on the table and Sam cleaning up.

"Am I interrupting?" Dean came into the room.

Sam stood up. "No, I'm done." He threw the trash away and went to wash his hands in the sink. "You said Ash created a new program? This I gotta see."

I stood up to follow him, and Ellen said, "Let's get you set up in the family room again."

I followed her down the hall and sat on the sofa again while she found a movie for me. This time it was the old Disney movie that was Robin Hood with animals. Iz and me had seen it once and the snake guy had made her laugh really hard.

Later when we had gone to bed she kept hiss-talking like him and making me giggle, and then Dad had stomped into the room and...the rest of the evening had not gone well. He had yelled and then made me leave the room and sleep on the sofa, which sent Iz into a fit, 'cause she wouldn't sleep alone for anything. Which just made him madder, and then he yelled more, and then he yelled louder, and she went more into her fit 'cause she didn't like loud noises. I had had to run in and put myself between them before he put his hands on her. He ended up putting his hands on me instead, but after it was all over, he let me sleep with her again. It took me a long time time to fall asleep that night because I hurt everywhere.

I dreamed of... The Dog. The Black Dog, huge, bigger than I had ever imagined, coming after me in the woods, stalking me, pacing behind me as I tried to get away...and then It had jumped on me and grabbed me.

But It didn't kill me right away, it had seemed...like It was playing with me. It knocked me down and stood over me breathing Its stinking breath in my face, and then backed up and let me stand and walk away...and then It had knocked me down again and dragged me across the clearing.

Then It had walked away again. It was only after I had gotten tired of this, and found a big branch, and started swinging at It, that It had come after me for real. Its hackles had gone up and Its eyes had flashed red and It had growled deep in Its throat and that was a sound I never want to hear again in my life. It had knocked me down again, snarling and chuffing, and I had screamed and fought, and I had felt Its teeth on my neck, biting down, and I had screamed-

"Zan! Alexandra!" a woman's voice said urgently, "Alexandra, wake up!"

I felt something wet on my face.

I opened my eyes, and Ellen and her husband stood over me, looking down at me.

"Darlin', what in the world were you dreamin'?" Ellen asked me. She sat down next to me on the sofa and wiped my face off with the damp washcloth she held.

I grabbed at her, my chest heaving, and told her about the time Dad had taken me to the woods and told me this was a test of my tracking skills and that I had to find my way back to him. He had left me, and I had gotten lost, terribly lost, and I had panicked. It had gotten dark and then The Black Dog had come after me. Every once in while Mr. Harvelle would ask me a question. Ellen rubbed my back as I sobbed and talked. Then she pulled back and looked down at me.

"Honey, it lookes like one of your stitches is split," she said. There was a spot of bright red blood on my shirt.

She looked at her husband. "Go and get Sam, tell him to come here, would you?"

I cried into Ellen' shirt as Sam checked my stitches, and then he bandaged the end of the one part that had gotten pulled out rather than re-stitch it. Then he carried me up to the bedroom and Jo came in and sat with me until I fell asleep.

I didn't tell them what had happened after, how Dad had been so angry with me for fighting the Black Dog. He had said I might have driven It off and then he wouldn't have had the chance to kill It, and I almost fucked everything up with that stupid-ass stunt, and that I was never to do something like that again. I had had to stay indoors at the motel until the bruises had healed enough that they weren't noticeable.

Because I had a split stitch, Ellen wanted me to rest the next day, with as little movement as possible. She set me up on the couch with the remote and a bunch of snacks, and Jo brought me her box of books. I looked through them but nothing really caught my eye.

When Jo came to check on me I asked her if she could bring my back pack to me. When she walked back into the room, she said, "Did you look through the books at all?"

I shrugged. "Just not in the mood to read," I said.

"Do you not like these?" she shuffled the books around in the box and pulled one out. "This one was one my my favorites. Boy, I hated Nellie Oleson," she chuckled, "I loved her descriptions of going into town," she looked at me.

"I only, uh, I only read like the first one or two of them," I said.

Mom had tried to read them to us at bedtime but all the detailed descriptions of everything had bored Iz. She liked stories about talking animals, and books with lots of brightly colored pictures.

Sam walked into the room. "How are the stitches feeling today?" he asked.

"Okay so far," I told him. I pulled out the bag of crayons and one of my coloring books.

"Those have seen better days," he commented.

"Huh?" I asked, confused.

"Your crayons. They're all broken and worn down."

"They still color," I told him, "They're me and Iz's."

"Can I see one of your coloring books?" he asked.

After I nodded, he reached into the backpack and flipped through the books, then pulled one out. "This is cute," he commented, starting to page through it.

"Hey!" I grabbed it away from him and held it to my chest, "Don't—don't _touch_ that one!"

"Okay, I'm sorry," he said sincerely, "What'd I do?"

"That's Iz's coloring book. _Only_ hers. No one else can touch it except me," I said with agitation.

"Okay, sweetie," Jo said calmly, "We won't touch it anymore, will we Sam?"

"Nope," Sam agreed, "You all right?"

"Yeah," I said, "I'm gonna color now, 'kay?"

"All right, we'll leave you be," Jo stood up. "I'll be back to check on you in a while."

I sat at the kitchen table eating a turkey sandwich for lunch. Ellen had cut the bread into a circle for me. She was standing at the stove, cooking something in a huge pot. The other men were standing around eating too- the plastic containers holding last night's leftovers were scattered across the table.

Mr. Winchester stepped close to the table. "I got the report from my boys about what happened to you, I'd like to hear your experience," he said. His voice wasn't all abrupt like it had been the night I had been rescued.

I looked up at him. "Well, um, I was sitting in the cabin and I heard my Dad calling for me."

"What did he say?"

"First he said, Alex, come here, I need your help."

He nodded. "Uh-huh, and what did you do?"

"I left the cabin and tried to listen...I wasn't sure what direction to go in so I just...started walking," I started to blush, "I know you aren't s'posed to do that, you gotta look for clues to figure out where the person went, but it was mostly dark, and when he had left earlier I didn't see what way he went."

"You're doin' good, kid," Mr. Singer said encouragingly.

"I was walking for a while-"

"Do you know for how long?" Mr. Winchester interrupted me.

I shook my head. "I'm not good at...that neither. Tellin' how long it's been," I looked down at my sandwich, "then I heard him calling again, for help."

"What did he say, his exact words," Mr. Winchester said.

"He said, umm, 'Alex, Alex, help me!' I tried and I listened but I couldn't figure out which way it was coming from! It sounded closer but I just couldn't tell!" I felt close to tears.

Ellen stepped over to me and put her hand on my arm. "It's all right, breathe, darlin'," she smiled at me.

"I called out, 'Dad I'm trying, where are you?' and then I started running and I tripped over a log, and then...it got really weird, everything went quiet."

"What do you mean?" Mr. Harvelle asked.

"All the noises stopped- the crickets and all, it was completely quiet. And I got goosebumps and I could just...feel...that something was wrong, you know?"

Ellen brought me a glass of orange juice and I took a sip. "And then I got knocked down by it, whatever it was, and I tried to fight it and I screamed, and it grabbed me, but it seemed like it had trouble holdling on to me 'cause it had a long cut in its shoulder that was bleeding I guess? I started to hear noises and then someone yelled 'Hey!' and shot it, and I saw the bullet go into its chest and it dropped me and I tried to get away."

"Did the bullet do anything to it?" Mr. Winchester asked.

"Uh-uh. It just kinda jerked backwards and it started to bleed, but that's all. Then I heard someone say, uh, they said, 'shit, it didn't work, what now' and another voice said, 'try this, catch'."

I paused and looked up at them, nervous that I was going to get scolded or smacked for saying a cuss. When no-one said or did anything, I continued, "The thing was starting to bend over me again and it grabbed for me and that's when it scratched me. Then there was another loud bang and I saw something light go through the air and into the creature's chest. What was that?"

"A flare gun," Mr. Winchester told me, "What happened to the creature?"

"Well first it's chest lit up and then it caught on fire and it was roaring and it fell backwards and burned up," I looked down at the plate, having lost my appetite.

I looked up at Ellen. "I'm not hungry anymore," I whispered. All the men were looking at me.

Mr. Harvelle stepped over to me and patted my back. "You did good, Zan, you were a very brave girl. Thank you for telling us about what happened."

"Thank you," Mr. Singer said.

"What happened after that?" Mr. Winchester was still watching me.

"Sam and Dean were there and they looked at me and I think it was Sam said I was gonna maybe need a lot of stitches, and Dean said they'd take care of me. I tried to walk but my legs got all shaky so Dean carried me out of the woods," I told him, "Did you find my dad yet? Do you at least know where he went?"

Mr. Winchester shifted and glanced at the other men. "No, we...haven't found him yet."

"What was that thing?" I asked.

"Darlin', you don't need to know-" Ellen started, and I interrupted her, "Yes I _do!_ I'm not a dummy, I been with Dad when he was hunting things, and I've seen some, you know?"

Ellen was looking at her husband. After a long moment, where they seemed to be doing that same 'talking without words' thing, he nodded. "It was a Wendigo. Do you know what that is?"

I shook my head. "Uh-uh."

"It's a creature that was once human, but it changes after it eats human flesh. It...captures people and takes them to its lair," Mr. Harvelle told me.

"Do you...do you think it got my dad?" I asked, "How could it have got him if I heard my dad calling me? Shouldn't he have been nearby?"

"Well, the thing is, it can mimic human voices. So...there's a good chance that it had already gotten your dad."

"Does that mean he's dead?" I exclaimed.

"No, kid, it don't," Mr. Singer said quickly, "They usually have a lair or nest that they take their...victims to, and they keep 'em there for a while. We're still searching for this one's nest. There's a lot of caves in the area, so it's slow going."

"So you haven't found him? Are you gonna...will you tell me when you find it? And him?" I looked at all of them, "Can I go with you to help look?"

Mr. Harvelle glanced at the others. "No, hon, it's best you stay here. We'll tell you...whatever we find, all right?" His phone buzzed and he pulled it out and looked at it. He turned to Ellen. "Delivery truck's almost here, I'll go meet 'em out front."

"Oh, they better have everything this time. They tell me that the bourbon's on back order again and I'm gonna raise hell," Ellen said.

"Calm down, woman, I got this," Mr. Harvelle kissed her cheek and walked out to the bar.

"If you gentlemen want a beer, help yourselves," Ellen said.

"No, we've got to get back out there," Mr Singer told her. "Winchester? You ready to go?"

"Sure. Thanks for lunch, Ellen," Mr. Winchester said. Mr. Singer chimed in with a thank you as well and then they left through the back door.

Ash came into the kitchen. "Did I hear someone say lunch? And _what_ is that delectable _smell?"_ he sniffed the air.

"Chili," Ellen told him, "but that's on the menu for tonight. There's leftovers for lunch."

Ash ambled over to the table. "Oh, hey, Munchkin," he said to me, "There's a racing game in the bar, want to go mano a mano with me after I eat?"

I looked at Ellen. "I'm not allowed in the bar," I told him, "What's mano a mano?"

"Head to head. You- against- me," Ash said dramatically.

Ellen glanced over. "You can go in when we're closed, just not when we're open for business. Y'all can go play that game. Ash, you remember how to switch it so you don't have to pay?"

"I'll figure it out," Ash wiggled his eyebrows, "You know _I_ can figure it out."

"Well, don't forget to switch it back when you're done."

"Yes ma'am," he said, as he made a ham sandwich for himself.

Ash and I played the old- time video game together in the bar while Ellen and her husband supervised the unloading of alcohol. It took a long time, there were crates and crates of bottles that kept coming in. Ash was funny, he made silly comments that made me laugh, although sometimes I had no idea what he was talking about, and I just laughed anyway.

"All right, Ash, finish up, we need you," Mr. Harvelle called over to him, "Help us get this stuff into the walk-in."

Ash looked at me. "All right, kid, I'm gonna let you take over my ride. Go out in a blaze of glory for me, would ya?" He turned and saluted me, and then walked towards Mr. Harvelle.

The first couple of times Ash had lost the game he had crashed his car and said he was "going out in a blaze of glory". He wasn't very good at the game, and he said to me, "I ain't so good at driving in real life either, but don't you tell no one."

I finished his turn and then my turn. As I walked back around the bar, Ellen told me to go sit and rest for a while, so I went back to the family room and watched some t.v.

We ate dinner in the kitchen that night; it had taken them a long time to get all of the supplies put away and the bar was already open for business when we sat down to eat. Well, Jo and Ash and me were the only ones sitting at the table in the kitchen. The men stood around, holding their bowls of chili in their hands. Sam and Dean weren't there, they were off doing something.

Mr. Winchester's phone rang just as Ellen came to the door of the kitchen. "Ash, Jo, I need your help. There was just a full pitcher of beer spilled all over the floor by the pool tables, and we just had a big group of good ol' boys come in lookin' to celebrate something and they all want to order some food. You're gonna have to waitress tonight, Jo, and Ash, you're gonna have to do clean up duty and bus tables."

Jo stood up and carried her bowl over to the sink. "Don't worry, Ash, I'll share my tips with you," she winked at him and left the room, grabbing an apron off of the hooks next to the door.

Ash took his bowl to the sink as well and hurried after Jo. "Ellen, where'd the mop bucket get off to?" he hollered as he walked into the bar.

"Let me go tell Ellen that we're leaving," Mr. Harvelle said, and he went into the bar. Mr. Winchester had hung up from his phone call and started to talk to the other men.

"You know where this particular cave is?" Mr. Winchester asked Mr. Singer.

"Not really, but I can figure it out," Mr. Singer said, "I'll follow you or Bill."

"It might not be an active nest, Dean said it looked like nothing had been there in a while. But there might be an active nest nearby, they tend to not stray too far from their first lair," Mr. Winchester said, "All right, I'll meet you out front and we'll leave in a couple of minutes." He went into the bar.

Dean had found a cave that might be the nest of the creature. If my Dad was there, I had to go and find him. I had to help them find my Dad. I wasn't that good at tracking, but I could try to help in other ways. Mr. Singer put his bowl in the sink and left towards the bathroom. I finished eating and put my bowl in the sink, then I went out the back door and around the side of the building where the men's vehicles were parked. There was a huge black truck, a smaller two-tone truck, and a big SUV. The black truck had a tarp in the back, covering over some stuff. The doors were locked, so I scrambled over the side of the bed and climbed into the back. As I was trying to get over, I felt a pain in my chest, and I winced. I lifted the corner of the tarp and crawled underneath of it, curling up against the large metal boxes that were covered by the tarp. I prayed that no -one would notice me. In a few minutes, I heard footsteps walking over to the vehicles and voices.

"I'll go first, and you can follow me," Mr. Winchester said. I felt the truck move as someone opened the door and got into it, and then the engine rumbled to life. Then the truck was moving, and all I could hear was the wind rushing past.


	5. Strange Days

**CONTENT WARNING: Discussion of physical and psychological child abuse.**

~ ~ spn ~ ~ spn ~ ~ spn ~ ~

I don't know how long we were on the road, it seemed like hours and hours. I was never good at telling time or how long it took to get somewhere. Even when I was little and Mom put me in Time Out, sometimes it had seemed real short and other times it had seemed like a really long time, even though she used a timer and it was always the same amount of time- one minute for every year of my age.

Then I noticed that the truck was turning, and then it slowed down and swerved to the side. The engine turned off and I heard the click of the brake, and then the squeak of the door hinges, and footsteps. I held my breath- were we at the site of the cave already? I listened, but I didn't hear any other cars around.

All of a sudden the tarp was yanked back and I heard a metallic click.

"Hands where I can see them!" Mr. Winchester barked.

And then he saw me, and visibly exhaled. He lowered the gun he had trained on me, and then opened the tailgate.

"All right, out of there," he pointed to the ground.

I scrambled out of the truck bed and dropped to the ground, standing awkwardly in front of him.

"What are you doing here?" he asked sternly, and his voice was deep.

"I- I wanted to help-"

"Well you can't. Get in the truck," he said tersely.

I walked around to the passenger side, and he opened the door. The truck was huge, and I tried to climb up into the cab, but I couldn't. I felt his hands on my waist, picking me up and putting me onto the seat, and he closed the door.

He pulled out his phone as he walked around the truck and made a phone call. He stood next to his door, talking for a couple of minutes, then hung up and made another call. He opened his door and was talking as he got in. "- bring her back, no problem. See you soon."

He turned the keys in the ignition and started the truck, glancing at me. "Buckle up," he said, still terse.

"Yessir," I said quickly. When my Dad talked like that it was best to be respectful and quick, because it usually meant that he was close to blowing up, and if he blew up, then I'd end up hurting later.

Mr. Winchester pulled out onto the highway.

"Am I- am I in trouble?" I asked timidly.

He glanced at me again. "Well, if you were my kid you'd be taking a trip across my knee for that stunt, but you aren't, so..."

"Are you gonna tell my dad?"

"I think by the time we find him, you sneaking into my truck isn't going to matter much. He'll just be happy to see you again."

I huffed a little laugh. Dad and happy with me didn't go together. I was just someone he had to take care of.

We drove in silence for a while. I didn't know what to say to him and to be honest I was a little nervous around him. Of all of the people I had just met recently, he seemed to be the most stern and abrupt. Maybe what my Dad thought of him was true.

Suddenly I was thrown forward and the brakes squealed slightly as a deer dashed across the road. Mr. Winchester threw his arm across the seat, and me, and I flinched further back, away from his arm. I gasped a little since the seat belt had tightened across my chest.

"You okay?" he asked, as the car started to drive again. I looked down at my chest. There was more blood on my shirt.

"Um, I, um, I think...I'm bleeding again," I told him.

He glanced at me, and then turned to look at me for a longer moment. "Damn," he said, "Did it happen just now?"

"Uh, well, uh, last night I had a nightmare, and I guess I was moving around so much that one of the stitches popped, and Sam bandaged it, but then earlier-" I paused, because this is something I would _definitely_ get into trouble for if my Dad was here-

"When I, uh, got into the back of your truck, I uh, I felt, uh, a pain in my chest, so I guess maybe... that's when it happened," I waited for him to scold me or yell at me.

"Well, that's unfortunate," he commented, "Can you tell how bad it's bleeding?"

"Uh, no," I said.

"I'll find somewhere to stop and take a look, and bandage it 'til we get back to The Roadhouse."

"No!" I exclaimed before I could help myself. He seemed surprised at my outburst. "I mean, no, thank you, I don't...I don't...I don't want anyone to touch me," I whispered.

He sighed. "All right. You think it's okay to wait until we get back?"

I pulled the neck of my shirt out and peered down into my shirt. It didn't look like it was bleeding too badly.

"I think I can wait," I said, "I _can_ help, y'know, with looking for my-"

He interrupted me. "You can't help."

"Yes I _can!_ I help my dad sometimes..."

 _"How_ do you help your dad? You're what, 8 years old?"

I lifted my chin. "I'm _10._ He says I'm like the fishing lure and he's the fish hook- I bring 'em out into the open and then he gets 'em."

 _"What?"_ Mr. Winchester looked at me for a long moment. "All right, tell me about one of these times that you were a 'lure'...what did you do exactly?"

I shifted uncomfortably, realizing that I shouldn't have said anything, that I was going to be telling someone about what my dad did...but then, didn't other hunters talk to each other about how they hunted and what worked best for them?

"Uh, well, last summer we went to a bunch of carnivals, well, we followed this one around for a while. They kept changing their name, but the people that worked there were the same. He said he'd figured out what the monster was and how to kill it. It was a... a rak-sassa?"

"Rakshasa," he corrected me.

"Yeah, so he told me to watch for clowns, and I kept seeing this one, and it waved to me, and he told me to invite it into our room, so I did, and he...got it." That was one of the times I hadn't been in danger or felt scared, he had told me that the monster wanted to eat _him,_ not me. I felt proud that I had been able to help him that time.

"Have you...helped him a lot?"

"Some," I said, not wanting to tell him too much more.

"Tell me about some of the other times," he said.

"Uh-" I felt uncomfortable again, "I, uh, had to go into this basement and stay- well, uh, he was, he had been teaching me how to use a lock-pick, and he, uh, locked me in this room in this basement, it had a lot of rooms in it and I had to figure out how to get out, he said it was a test-"

After a couple of minutes, he glanced at me. "And?" he prompted.

I didn't want to keep talking about it, it had been a scary experience. The basement had been dark and damp and had smelled funny. "This, uh, this monster came after me, and it was chasing me around—" I closed my eyes for a moment and took a deep breath.

"What was it?"

"I dunno, he didn't tell me," I muttered. I had been so scared that he hadn't talked to me about it afterwards, he had just yelled at me 'cause I had wet myself.

"What did it look like?"

I sighed again. "Real scary, it looked like a human but its face was all, like it was dragged down, and it was real hairy and walked in a crouch."

"Rawhead," Mr. Winchester said to himself, "Did it come after you?"

"Uh...yeah," I looked down at my lap.

"How did he kill it?"

"He had a, a thing, a little machine that zaps you with electricity?"

"A taser."

I felt myself blushing, remembering what had happened when we got back to the motel room. The walls were thin, we had heard people arguing in the room next to us, and I had worried about them hearing the sounds of the blows and my crying, so I had tried not to be loud.

"Did it have ahold of you?" he asked with concern in his voice.

"No, Dad was there and he, uh, he was fighting it-" I said hesitantly.

"I feel like there's something you're not saying. What happened?" his voice was stern all of a sudden.

I squirmed with embarrassment. "Well I...I was, it was really scary, and I was scared," I whispered, "and I...I wet myself. And he was, uh, mad, at me, 'cause he said that- liquid can conduct electricity."

"I thought you said he had fought it off and it wasn't holding you."

"Well, yeah, but at the last minute it tried to grab at me, and I felt, I got a shock and then Dad saw that it had me and he pulled me away," I looked down at my lap again. "I messed it up," I muttered, "I messed it up 'cause I could've died too, 'cause of my wet pants."

When we got back to the room, his yelling had hurt my ears, and then his fists had hurt my body. I could barely move when he was done, so I had curled up in a ball and fallen asleep with my wet pants still on.

"You didn't mess up," he said, and his voice was deeper,"That wasn't your fault, kids get scared. Did you get shocked at all?"

"A...a little. That's why he was mad at me."

He shook his head. "That's...he shouldn't have had you there with him."

"But I was helping him!" I told him.

"Well...you have to weigh the risks and outcomes of what can happen if you have someone helping- and it sounds like he didn't weigh the options well enough."

"It would've been fine, if I hadn't been such a big fucking baby!" I snapped, and tears came to my eyes. That was that he had said to me in the motel room. I swiped at my eyes, not wanting to cry in front of Mr. Winchester.

"Hey," he said, turning towards me slightly, "That _wasn't_ your fault," he repeated, "Kids get scared. Ten years old is...ten is a little too young to be involved with a hunt, in my opinion."

"I wasn't ten, it was a couple years ago," I told him.

"How old _were_ you?" he asked.

"Eight," I turned and looked out the window.

He made a slight sound in the back of his throat and shook his head. After a moment, he said, "I need a cup of caffeine, are you hungry?"

"Uh—I dunno."

He pulled off of the exit ramp and drove until he found a fast-food restaurant. "What do you want?" he asked, "It's all right," he said when I hesitated.

"Uh, just a, a hamburger and small fries, please," I said timidly. I wasn't supposed to ever take things that were offered, Dad had said we didn't need charity from anyone.

"Chocolate, or vanilla?" he had turned in the seat again and was looking at me.

"Huh?" I was confused.

"I'll get you a milkshake too. What flavor?"

"You don't have to-"

"What flavor?" he repeated.

"Uh, chocolate, please."

He went through the drive-through and handed me over the paper bag. "There's a place for the cup on the lower part of the door," he told me as he handed me the milkshake.

"Thank you," I said quietly.

I ate quickly, being careful not to spill anything. Dad hated it when things got spilled in his truck. I'd had to really watch Iz when we were eating because she still spilled things a lot, and that was a way to piss him off quick. Even though she was 4 year old, I ended up feeding her a lot of the time. But then sometimes he'd see me feeding her and he'd yell because he said she was too old for that and should be able to feed herself. So it seemed like neither of us could win, if she spilled, she'd get it, and if he caught me feeding her, I'd get it. We figured out how to sneak it so that she held the food container in her hands and it looked like she was feeding herself, but really, I was sneaking her bites of food.

"What other hunts have you been on?" he asked after I had finished eating and put all the trash into the bag.

"Uh, I don't wanna talk about it any more," I told him.

"All right," he nodded, "We'll talk more later."

I turned to look out the window and hummed to myself. Finally I saw the lights of The Roadhouse coming up, and he pulled around to the back of the building.

"Bar's still open, I can't take you in the front," he said. He walked around to the passenger side and took my hand to help me jump down out of his truck. He banged on the door, since it was locked, and when it opened partway, Ellen peered out at us.

"Oh, thank God," she sighed, pushing the door open wide. She was wearing a big apron and her hair was pulled back. She had a gun in her hands and she holstered it as we walked in.

She grabbed me and shook my shoulders. "Little girl, don't you _ever_ run off like that again!" she snapped, "you scared the livin' daylights outta me!"

I burst into tears. "I'm sorry, Ellen, I was just, I wanted to help with finding my dad! I'm sorry!" I looked up at her, "Are you gonna whoop me?"

I saw her look at Mr. Winchester. "No, child, no- one's gonna whoop you," she said gently, and she pulled me into a hug.


	6. Just Another Lost Angel

Ellen pulled back from me. "You're bleeding again," she said.

"Yeah, I, uh, when I got into the back of the truck, I felt it, uh, pull," I blushed.

"I should take a look at it," Mr. Winchester said.

"No!" I exclaimed. I did not want this gruff, abrupt man touching me.

"Honey, he was a medic in Vietnam, he'll fix ya right up," Ellen told me, "He's not gonna hurt ya."

"But- but I-" I felt uncomfortable.

There was the sound of glass breaking and loud shouting from the bar, and Ellen turned.

"I've got to go check on things, people are rowdy tonight. I'll send Jo in in just a minute, okay?"

Ten minutes later I was laying on the sofa in the family room with my head in Jo's lap. She stroked my hair over and over again and murmured softly to me as Mr. Winchester used two large pairs of tweezers to tie off the ends of the stitches that had been pulled out.

"All right, that's done," he said, sitting up.

"There, that wasn't too bad, was it?" Jo asked me.

"Now, I'm going to close the wound with a couple butterfly bandages instead of re-stitching it," he told us, "and then put a pressure bandage on it. No moving around for a day or two," he said sternly, looking at me.

"Yessir," I gulped.

"You're going to feel some pressure," he said, and I cried out and jerked my body as he moved the edges of the wound together- it was painful.

"You need to be still," he said, in that same stern tone.

"It—it hurts," I whimpered, and tears came to my eyes.

"If you keep still it'll be done much quicker."

I clenched my eyes shut and mumbled to myself, "Three point one four one five nine two-"

"What?" Mr. Winchester asked abruptly.

I opened my eyes. "N-nothin'. That used to help my sister, but it doesn't help me." I sucked in a breath as he applied small bandage strips to my chest.

"Almost finished," he said.

I started to hum, _"Oh moon, of Alabama, we now must say goodbye,"_ and Jo chuckled. "Mom told me that you like The Doors."

Mr. Winchester pressed a gauze pad to my chest and taped it there tightly, to cover the bandages. "This will need to be removed tomorrow," he told Jo.

"All right, done," he sat up straight, stretching his back.

"Thanks, John," Jo said warmly.

"Th-thank you sir," I said.

He gave me a brief smile. "No problem," he said, "No more late night excursions in the back of trucks for you, huh?" He reached out and ruffled my hair.

"No sir," I agreed.

"You need to go to bed," Jo told me, "It's late."

Mr. Winchester cleaned up the trash from the bandages. "I've got to get on the road, see if I can meet up with them," he stood up and left the room.

I felt guilty, and lowered my head.

"What's the matter?" Jo asked.

"I, uh, because I snuck out and hurt myself, I took time away from the hunt for Dad," I said, "Mr. Winchester coulda been out there with everyone else instead of wasting his time bringing me back here. Stupid!" I clenched my fist and pounded my knee.

"Hey," Jo took my wrist, "Don't say that...you just wanted to help. It's all right, there's 4 other people out there looking. C'mon, I'll walk you upstairs."

She walked me up to the bedroom and tucked me in after I had gotten changed into pajamas. I didn't think I'd be able to fall asleep, I was feeling so upset with myself, but I did.

~ ~ spn ~ ~ spn ~ ~

"After we eat I want you on the sofa in the family room," Ellen told me. She set a plate of pancakes in the middle of the table.

Jo was next to me, slumped over a cup of coffee. "I wish those guys had just come in, eaten, and then left," she said, "they didn't even leave a good tip! And all the running they had me do!"

"Well, they paid their bill with cash, which is a good thing," Ellen looked at me. "What's the matter, Zan?"

"Uh, I'm, uh, not hungry," I said awkwardly, pushing my plate away.

"You want some juice at least?" Jo pushed the carton of orange juice over towards me.

"N-no thanks," I mumbled.

The door opened and Ash came into the room. "Do I smell bacon?" he asked.

"No, sausage," Ellen replied.

Ash got himself a cup of coffee and a plate and started to eat pancakes.

Ellen set a serving dish filled with small sausages on the table and sat down.

Ash looked at me.

"What?" I asked.

He gestured at the sausage. "Guests first."

"Oh, I, uh, I'm not hung-" I started to say, and then my stomach betrayed me and rumbled loud enough for all of them to hear.

I glanced up at Ellen, feeling my face get red.

"Little girl, what is that about? Saying you're not hungry when you clearly are?"

"Uh, I can't- when I, uh...he would-" I bit my lip and lowered my head. Then I took a deep breath, "I took time away from the hunt for my dad and made Mr. Winchester have to bring me back and fix me up and that took his time away and I fucked up, so I have to be—punished!" I blurted out quickly.

I closed my eyes, waiting to see what would happen next.

"And you're punishing yourself by not eating?" Ellen's voice was quiet and controlled, "Zan," she waited a moment, " Alexandra, look at me."

She waited until I had opened my eyes and raised my head.

She looked upset, and her lips were tight as she spoke. "Whatever—happened with your father, whatever he did to you—that's not gonna happen here, all right? So you can stop bein' scared of bein' hurt. And you're not gonna do anything to punish yourself either, you hear me? You're gonna eat and drink and sleep whenever you need it. You don't need to be punished, child. All the things that have happened to you are not your fault."

"But I-"

She raised her hand. "No. What's he's done—well, I don't want to get into that with you right now." She sighed, and placed a pancake on my plate and some sausage. "I want you to eat. And no more talk of you punishing yourself."

"Yes 'm," I said, and I started to eat.

I tried to pace myself, to make it seem like I wasn't that hungry, but I cleared my plate quickly. I glanced up when I was finished, and Ellen was watching me. She picked up two more pancakes and placed them on my plate, and added two links of sausage. I ate everything quietly.

When we were finished, Ellen stood up. "Zan, Jo's brought your backpack down from your room, and I want you on the sofa in the family room, resting. I'll see if I can dig up Jo's collection of movies she used to watch when she was your age, but I don't know if we got rid of them or not."

"We can do some reading together," Jo said, "You told me you like the Little House books, right?"

"Uh, yeah," I stared at the table.

When I sat down on the sofa I reached for the remote. Jo had followed me in, and Ellen came in after a few minutes, carrying a red plastic milk crate filled with VCR tapes.

"I found 'em," Ellen said, "Mostly adventure-type stuff like Swiss Family Robinson and Black Beauty."

"Okay," I agreed.

"Hey, you want to read some?" Jo asked. I saw her look at Ellen. "I loved the Little House book about when the girls were older, and it was winter time- The Long Winter, I think it was? It had them on the cover holding a kitten, I think? Hand it to me."

I leaned over and looked in the box of books, finding the one with the drawing on the cover of the girls standing together, with one holding a kitten. I handed it to Jo, and she looked down at the cover, and then up at me.

"This isn't The Long Winter," she told me, "You—you can't read, can you?"

I felt a shock, and then I started to blush. Tears came to my eyes and I hung my head in shame. "I—I'm sorry!" I said, "I just- it's not cause I'm lazy or nothin', I just- I can't- when I try to read, the letters go all mixed up an' I can't- I read things wrong! The letters go in the opposite way that they're written! Something's wrong with me! I'm stupid!" I raised my head and looked at Ellen.

"No, honey, you're not stupid. Sometimes people have a problem learning how to read, and you have to learn how to deal with it. It doesn't mean that something's wrong with you," she said kindly.

"Dad said he was stuck with two fuck-ups- a dummy who can't read and a retard!" I burst out angrily, and then I started to cry, and covered my face with my hands. "Iz couldn't help—the way—she was," I sobbed.

I felt arms around me, and Ellen said, "Shh, it's all right, child." She hugged me tightly and I felt her stroking the back of my head.

"They used to argue about Iz, Dad said she needed to stop all of her weird stuff that she did and Mom said that they needed to take her for testing. But Dad said no," I wiped my nose with my hand, "Iz did the stuff that she did to help her feel better, but he said she did it just to annoy him!"

"What kind of stuff did she do?"

"She- she said the numbers of Pi over and over, and she'd wiggle her fingers in front of her face, 'specially if she was looking at a light, and she liked to spin. And Dad didn't like to see her do that, he said she looked like a idiot," I sniffled, and Jo leaned over and place a box of tissues in my lap. I blew my nose and wiped my eyes. "I—I shouldn't've told you, this is private family stuff, an' nobody needs to know it," I muttered, feeling like I had betrayed my father. That was what he said whenever Mom talked about having Iz tested.

"No, I'm glad you told us. You're not a dummy and I'm sure your sister wasn't- retarded like your dad said. You just need a little help with figuring out how to read. You probably have dyslexia," Ellen said.

"That- that's what my teacher said when I went to school, but Dad- he didn't want me to take any tests for it," I looked at her again.

She smoothed my hair back from my face. "You're a good kid, Zan, and your Dad- well, he shouldn't have done the things he did with you."

"You mean like hunting?" I asked.

She nodded. "You're way too young to be on a hunt, and he didn't train you proper neither. Usin' you as bait- well, I ain't gonna get into that," She pressed her lips together, and I noticed that she looked mad.

"What- what's wrong?" I asked.

"Don't you worry 'bout it," she told me briskly, "You want to watch one of these movies?"

I decided on Black Beauty, and she put the tape in the VCR and then she and Jo left, saying they had to finish cleaning up the bar.

By the time the movie was over I could smell food being cooked, and it made my stomach rumble. I stood up and padded down the hall towards the kitchen, stopping when I heard men's voices talking.

"-thought we had his trail but it's gone cold," someone was saying.

"Well at this point maybe you should just let him stay gone," Ellen said, and her voice was filled with bitterness, "Not only is he usin' her on hunts, he was tellin' her and her little sister that they're stupid and retarded! Zan's probably dyslexic, she has trouble reading, and from what she told me, sounds like her sister's - was autistic. And the man refused to get them any help!" Ellen's voice was outraged now, "As far as I'm concerned you should just stop lookin' for him, let the Wendigos or werewolves or whatever's out there get him."

"Honey, we can't do that," another man said, and I recognized the voice as Mr. Harvelle's.

"Hey, whatcha doin'? Finish your movie?" Jo came up behind me, from the bar. She was carrying a plastic bin filled with glasses. I blushed and followed her into the kitchen.

Ellen was at the stove. "Y'all want hamburgers?" she asked.

"Sure, Mama," Jo said, and she began to load the glasses into the dishwasher.

"How are those stitches today? You keeping quiet?" Mr. Winchester asked me.

"Yessir, they're, uh, fine," I ducked my head and stared at the table.

"We should have Sam take a look since he's the one who put them in," he said to Ellen, "The boys should be here in a couple of hours."

"All right," Ellen said, "I'll make a few more burgers to save for them, they can heat 'em up later."

I sat down at the table and took a deep breath. "Did, uh, did you find my dad?" I asked, looking at the men, "Was he in the Wendigo's nest?"

I saw them shift and glance at each other. Mr. Harvelle cleared his throat. "Well, hon, we did find what we thought was his trail but... it disappeared after a while. We weren't able to find it again."

"Do you think he's-" I couldn't say the words, "What if-"

"Best not to think that, yet," Mr. Singer said smoothly, "We still got time, and we're gonna keep lookin'."

Ellen set some dishes on the table. "You're welcome to stay here as long as you like, Zan," she smiled at me.

I woke up in the middle of the night, feeling hot and sweaty and out-of-sorts. Something was wrong. I got out of bed and stumbled down the hall to search for Ellen. She had never told me which room was hers, so I opened the first door I came to. There were two twin beds in the room, and I walked over to one and started to shake the shoulder of the person who was asleep, just as I realized that Ellen most likely wouldn't be sleeping in a room like this, she'd have a big bed that she'd sleep in with her husband.

The person rolled over and sat up, blinking at me. It was Dean.

I stepped back. "Sorry, m' sorry, I was lookin' for Ellen," I babbled.

"Hey, it's all right," he peered at me in the semi-darkness, "You okay?"

A figure on the floor, that was in a sleeping bag, sat up. "What's going on?" I recognized Mr. Winchester's low rumble.

"N-nothing, I was just t-tryin' to f-find Ellen," I said, and then I shivered.

Mr. Winchester had gotten up and he came over. He looked down at me. "You feeling okay?"

"N-no," I said, as my teeth started to chatter. Dean leaned over and turned on the light.

He and Mr. Winchester both looked at me, and then Mr. Winchester put his hand on my forehead. "She's burning up with fever," he gestured to Dean's bed, "Sit down, let's take a look at your injuries."

I sat down on the edge of the bed, and Dean swung his feet over the side.

"You cold?" he asked me, and when I nodded he pulled his blanket off the bed and wrapped it around me.

Mr. Winchester turned. "Sam, hey Sam, wake up," he said. Sam rolled over in the other bed and sat up, blinking and rubbing his eyes.

"How did Zan's wounds look when you checked them last?" Mr. Winchester asked, and his voice was no-nonsense. It had been a couple of days since he had put the butterfly bandages on.

"Everything looked good," Sam yawned, "I checked 'em yesterday morning."

"Take another look and tell me if they look different to you. Dean, Med kit," Mr. Winchester instructed.

"On it," Dean stood up and left the room.

Sam got up and came over to me. "Not feeling well?" he asked. His hair was rumpled and his eyes were sleepy looking, I felt bad for waking them all up.

"M' sorry," I said, "I meant to get Ellen-"

"It's no problem," Sam shook his head, "I should be the one to check you, since I'm the one who's been treating your injuries. I'm going to take off the bandage on your arm first, okay?"

He took my arm and pulled the tape off, and there it was- one of the wounds was puffy and red.

Sam looked up at his Dad. "Looks like infection's starting."

I started to cry, feeling anxious. "What does that mean?" I asked.

Sam put his hand on my back. "It's okay, it just means that you need some medicine. Do you know if you're allergic to anything?"

I shook my head. "Not far as I know."

Dean brought in the small duffle, and set it on the bed. Sam unzipped it and started to rifle through it.

"We've got Amoxicillin, but I think it's an adult dosage," he said. He looked up at his father, "Do we have any other antibiotics?"

"I don't think so, I'll go and check in my truck. Go wake Ellen up and ask her what she's got, she's probably got a scale and we can use it to measure the medication so that she gets the correct dose." Mr. Winchester walked over to the low bureau by the door and picked up a set of keys. "Be right back," he said, and left the room.

"It's okay," I said, "Don't wake anyone else up, I'll be all right until the morning."

"Nah, you're sick, kid," Dean said, "and the sooner we get this treated the sooner you'll feel better. I'll be back." He left the room also.

"M' okay, really," I mumbled.

"You don't look okay," Sam told me, "Your cheeks are bright red and your eyes are glassy."

I started shivering harder just then, and he wrapped the blanket tighter around me. I felt sad suddenly, remembering how Mom would take care of me and Iz when we got sick, making us soup and sitting with us. I leaned against Sam, and felt him put his arm around my shoulders.


	7. No One Here Gets Out Alive

**CONTENT WARNING: Discussion of character deaths, violence, gore, and child abuse. This chapter is** _ **dark.**_

~ ~ spn ~ ~ spn ~ ~ spn ~ ~

I woke up slowly, hearing the t.v. on low in the background and voices talking.

"Man, I didn't know this meant that we were going to get stuck doing babysitting duty."

"Calm down, this isn't a big deal."

"You just don't want to be out there looking any more."

"What can I say, those caves give me the creeps. And there are more experienced hunters than us working on it."

"Yeah, but how are _we_ going to gain more experience if we always get stuck doing this kind of thing?"

"Dean, just relax. Would you rather be in the bar busing tables?"

"If it means I'll be around the lovely Jo Harvelle, then hell yeah!"

I heard a chuckle. "Careful, Ellen seems like she's mighty handy with a shotgun."

"Yeah, I know."

I opened my eyes and raised my head. I was on the sofa in the family room-Dean was lounging in the armchair across from me, and Sam sat at the desk with his laptop open in front of him.

Dean noticed me and leaned forward. "Hey, how you doin'?" he asked.

"Thirsty," I said, and my voice was hoarse.

"I'll go get some water," Sam said, standing up. He left the room, and Dean stood and came over to me. He leaned down and put his palm on my forehead.

"Fever's down," he commented, "That's good."

The past few days were a blur. The infection had come on quickly and hit me hard. I had had a high fever, and there had been a couple of times that I had had to be put into a bathtub full of barely lukewarm water. I had fought and screamed and cried, since I was half out of my head with sickness. I had had all sorts of bad dreams mixed with memories, and on more than one occasion woken up with someone holding me tightly to stop me from thrashing around.

I glanced up at Dean. "Uh, sorry I splashed you in the tub," I said guiltily.

He shrugged. "It's okay, you didn't do it on purpose. I know you were having a rough time," he looked at me, "You, uh, talked about some of the hunts you've been on with your Dad...sounded pretty intense."

Sam came into the room, followed by Ellen and Mr. Winchester.

"How you feelin', darlin'?" Ellen asked me.

I took the glass that Sam handed me.

"Wait," Mr. Winchester said, "Temperature first." He leaned over and picked up a digital thermometer, and held it up to me. "Open," he told me.

I opened my mouth and he stuck it in. They watched me until the thermometer beeped.

Mr. Winchester pulled it out and looked at it. "Normal," he said.

I took a big drink of the ice water Sam had brought me.

Ellen let out a sigh and smiled. "Great," she said, "Looks like the fever's broke."

"A couple more days of antibiotics and she should be good to go," Mr. Winchester told her.

"All right," Ellen looked at them, "I've got to get back to the bar... if Zan's hungry there's some soup in the fridge, if one of y'all want to heat it up for her." She left the room.

"Are you hungry?" Mr. Winchester asked, "You should probably drink the broth, at least."

"O—okay, I mean yessir," I said.

"I'll go heat some up," he said, and he left. I could hear music drifting down the hall from the bar.

"What time is it?" I asked.

"It's about 11:30 at night," Dean told me, "You've been in and out for about 4 days."

"The good thing is, I took your stitches out, you're pretty healed up," Sam said.

"You did?" I pulled the neck of my t-shirt down and looked inside my shirt. The stitches were gone, leaving red lines on my torso. I looked up at Sam.

"Thanks," I said gratefully.

"Well, you kinda didn't make it easy," Dean said with a rueful smile.

I remembered then, the stitches had pulled uncomfortably, and I had fussed a lot, and cried, and pushed Sam away, and they had had to hold me down. Ellen had held my upper body and Dean had held my legs and Jo had sat next to my head and we had sung "When the Music's Over" to help me be distracted.

I blushed. "Sorry," I muttered.

"It's okay," Sam smiled at me.

Mr. Winchester appeared in the doorway. "Soup's heated up."

We went to the kitchen, and Sam and Dean ate some too. Ellen had made home-made chicken soup with big chunks of chicken, potatoes, and carrots. I didn't think I was hungry but my stomach growled after the first spoonful of broth.

"You should go back to bed now," Mr. Winchester told me when I put my spoon in the empty bowl.

"Yessir," I said, "Thanks for heating up the soup."

He gave me a brief smile. "You're welcome."

"I'll walk you up," Dean told me, and he followed me up the stairs. I wondered what he was doing, because I wasn't a little kid who needed to be put to bed.

When I got into bed, he put his hand on my forehead and then nodded. "Fever's still down, that's good."

He leaned over and pulled up the covers. I hadn't been tucked in since Mom died, and all of a sudden I got tears in my eyes.

"Why are you bein' so nice to me?" I whispered hoarsely.

"Well, you're a kid, and you're sick, you can't exactly take care of yourself," Dean huffed a short laugh. Then his face changed to serious. "I'm sorry about...the way your mom and sister passed."

 _"What?"_ I felt shocked. I never talked about that with anyone.

"You, uh, you had a couple of nightmares about it, and you...told us about how it went down. That sounds really rough."

Tears filled my eyes now and slipped down my cheeks. I bowed my head so he wouldn't see. I didn't want to talk about it or even think about it.

"Hey, I'm sorry," he said gently, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "I didn't mean to upset you. I know—I know how hard it is, my mom...she passed when I was a little kid."

I glanced at him. "She did?"

He nodded. "Yeah, Sammy was a baby, and our Dad gave him to me and told me to run. Our house- burned down."

"Sorry," I whispered, and my chest hitched.

I felt him put his arms around me and I leaned my head on his chest, smelling his gun oil and whiskey smell. I got a flash of when I was sick, and of smelling his smell when I had been shaken awake out of a nightmare by him, and I had grabbed onto him and crawled into his lap. He had held me until I had calmed down and fallen asleep again.

He patted my back. "You ready to sleep?" he asked.

"Yeah," I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand and he let go of me. I laid down and he tucked the covers around me, then left the room.

In the morning my fever was still down. I had to take medicine mixed in with a spoonful of applesauce because they had broken open capsules of it and measured out the powder, since none of them had kid-sized doses of medicine.

After breakfast, Ellen said I could go out back on the swing set, so I did. It was a cool, breezy day, and I shivered a little as I swung. It felt good to be outside in the fresh air after having been in bed for so many days.

Then I noticed that the air seemed like it had gone still. All the birds had stopped chirping and the only noise was a breeze in the trees. I stopped swinging and opened my eyes.

A man was walking over to me. He wore a gray long coat with a dark scarf wrapped around the lower part of his face, and an old-fashioned hat on his head. His hand were in his pockets.

"Hello," he stopped several feet away from me.

I looked down at the ground. "Not s'posed to talk to strangers," I muttered.

"You're Josiah Fletcher's girl, aren't you?"

At that, the hair on the back of my neck stood up. I felt my skin break out in goosebumps for some reason, and I looked up at him in shock.

"D'you know where he is?" I blurted, before I could help myself. Then I glanced around- if Dad was here, and he saw me talking to someone, he'd be sure to slap me upside my head, or worse.

The brim of his hat cast a shadow over most of his face, but I could see his lips curl up in a smile.

"I do not," he told me, "So it seems we are both looking for him."

I gulped, realizing how stupid I had been, letting this stranger know about my father.

"Who are you?" I asked.

"I'm someone who is looking for something," he said, and then it got real windy. He had to put his hand up to hold his hat on his head, and I noticed he was wearing maroon leather gloves.

There was a sound of a loud truck rumbling into the side parking lot, and I turned towards the sound of a horn honking. It must be delivery day.

"Zan, come inside," Ellen called from the doorway.

I turned back, but the man had disappeared. There was no trace of him.

By the time I reached the doorway, I had forgotten all about him.

"I want you to stay in the kitchen while we get these deliveries dealt with," Ellen told me. I could hear loud talking and the sounds of bottles clattering from the bar.

"Yes'm," I said.

"Hey, we got you something," Sam came over to me holding a plastic bag. I sat down at the kitchen table.

He pulled out one of those big 64-count crayon boxes, and two coloring books.

"Your crayons are pretty beat up and worn down, I figured you could use new ones," Sam smiled at me, "And the new coloring books will give you something to do while you're recovering."

I blinked tears away again as I said, "Thanks, Sam."

He opened the box of crayons for me and I just sat there looking at them for a moment. I had never had a box of brand-new crayons before, and I had always wanted this big box.

"So many colors," I breathed.

Sam chuckled. "Yeah, there are a lot."

I looked at him, feeling shy. "Will you—will you help me organize them?"

He smiled again. "Sure."

I blushed. "Iz liked to do it with stuff, so now it don't feel right unless I do it too."

"Okay," he agreed, and I dumped the crayons out onto the table. He sat down next to me and leaned over, and we sorted them by color and began to put them back into the compartments.

All of a sudden I could hear loud talking again in the bar, but it sounded different. It wasn't people talking about deliveries and routes, it was angry sounding.

And then I heard it.

"ALEX!" my father bellowed, "ALEXANDRA!"

I looked over at Sam, my eyes wide. "M-my dad," I whispered, and stood up.

"Wait—Zan-" Sam said, and I ran towards the bar.

I could hear my father talking as I reached the hallway. I stood stock-still and listened to his loud, agitated voice. I wanted to go to him but when he talked like that things could get dangerous.

"She's MY kid, and you ain't got a GODDAMN right to keep her from me," my father said angrily.

"Well, when you're mis-treating her, someone's got to step in-" I recognized Mr. Harvelle's voice.

"Mistreating her? What the fuck are you talking about? Has she been tellin' stories again?" I could imagine the angry frown on his face. He hated when I "told stories", he said.

"Not stories, no, but we did manage to get some information out of her about hunts you been on," Ellen's voice sounded like she was barely holding back anger, "And it's easy enough to read between the lines. I didn't want to believe it, but it's true."

"What the hell is _that_ supposed to mean?"

 _"You use your kid as bait!"_ Ellen exploded, "She tried to hide it but she's a scared little thing, and she's had a few nightmares since she's been here."

"And she was awful calm for someone who just came face to face with a Wendigo," Mr. Singer spoke up, "A regular civilian wouldn've been shaking in their shoes, retelling the story, but she was a calm as could be."

"So what? She's a calm kid."

"No, that's because she's numb to it. Just like hunters get, you build up that wall so that you don't run screaming after every horror you come across," Mr. Winchester said in a cold, hard voice, "People've said I'm a tough father because I trained my boys in the miltary way, but to me what you've done is much worse. Using your kid as bait is one step above child abuse."

"What the fuck are you _talking_ about, bait?"

I shivered at the cold rage in my father's voice. He was getting close to exploding.

"She's told us about the different hunts you took her on, she was almost killed by a Black Dog, you let a Rawhead get ahold of her, the vampires-"

Mr. Singer interrupted Mr. Harvelle, "And you probably meant to be in those woods, ready to take out the Wendigo, but instead you fucked up and got captured by it, and she almost got taken too!"

"And then after you escaped you didn't even come looking for her!" Ellen's voice was outraged.

"What the hell are you- I _have_ been looking for her!" Dad sounded defensive.

"Not what I heard," Mr. Wincheser said dryly, "I heard you've been at that hole-in-the-wall bar off of route 17, drinking cheap whiskey until they have to kick your ass out onto the street."

"This is bullshit, where's my kid, I'm taking her. ALEXANDRA! GET YOUR ASS IN HERE!" my father bellowed, and my feet automatically moved. I had been trained to obey that voice, and when he said those words, I had to get to him, and quick, or else.

Everyone turned as I came to the door.

"Honey, you stay right there," Ellen told me, "Don't you come a step closer."

She pulled out a shotgun from under the bar and pointed it at my father. "You _ain't_ taking her, Fletcher, I can't let you. She's recovering from her injuries and she's taking medication for an infection, and I can't trust that you're going to take proper care of her.

"She's _my_ damn kid, and I'll take her whenever and where ever I _choose,"_ my father stepped around the bar, "Alex, _get over here,"_ he said severely.

Ellen cocked the shotgun. "One more step and you'll regret it," she hissed, "You- _ain't_ -taking- her."

"Alex, come to your daddy, NOW," my father told me, glaring at me.

I started to shake. I wanted to go to him, he had told me to, but I couldn't make myself.

 _"ALEX!"_ he yelled, and I flinched. Everyone looked at me, and that's when he lunged forward and tried to grab Ellen's gun. She hollered and fought him, and I screamed and cringed back against the door jamb, grabbing onto it. The men converged on my dad, wrestling the gun away from him, and then fists were flying.

"Noooo!" I screamed, "Dad!"

My father got knocked onto the floor. Mr. Singer cocked a huge rifle and pointed it at him. "Get the hell offa the property before I fill you so fulla rock salt you crap margaritas. GIT OUTTA HERE, _NOW!"_

My father scrambled up and backed away, his hands up. "This ain't over, she's _my_ kid, and I'll be back for her!" he glared at them.

"Go on, GIT!" Mr. Harvelle said, taking a step threateningly towards my father. My father leaned over and spit, and then walked backwards until he got to the door. He slammed the door so hard that three out of the four window panes in the door broke.

I burst into tears, and felt someone behind me put their hand on my shoulder. I turned, thinking it was Jo, and threw my arms around her waist. I buried my head in her stomach, sobbing, and then I heard Sam say, "Uh, it's okay," and he awkwardly patted my back.

I looked up, startled that it was him, and started to pull away, and he put his arms around me and pulled me to him in a hug.

"It's okay, it's gonna be all right," he said comfortingly, and gave me a small smile. I buried my face in his shirt again.

"My Dad," I sobbed, "What's gonna happen to him?"

"Darlin', you don't worry about him," Ellen said. I glanced up, she was standing next to us.

"But- but it's just me and him, and we got to stick together. Family stays together," I said, and my chest hitched.

"I'm sorry, Zan, honey, but I can't let you go with him," Ellen said. Her voice had tears in it, and when I looked again she had tears in her eyes. "You don't deserve that kind of treatment, especially after your mama and sister both died. I still can't believe that- that he couldn't get to the vamps before they got both of them."

I pulled away from Sam. "Yeah, well, I lied," I said, "I never talk about what really happened."

Everyone sat around the kitchen table, looking at me and waiting for me to begin. Dean had joined us, standing in the hallway behind Sam and me when he heard the yelling start.

"They were following us," I told them, "they kept leaving things in front of the hotel door, one time it was a bat wing, another time it was sharp teeth from an animal. Once it was a big smear of blood all across the front of the truck. Dad said they must've drained a animal like a dog or something."

"They broke in one night when Dad was out, and they had gotten to Mom when he came home. There was a lot of fighting...Iz was really scared and upset, she had run into the middle of things when they were fighting with Mom, and they had thrown her across the room. I stayed with her, but then when she woke up and saw them fighting she went and got right in the middle of things again. I went after her. I 'member hearing the one guy yell, 'save the kids for last!' during. Then one of 'em threw me across the room, and I bumped my head and didn't wake up til much later. Mom was...she was gone, she was pale white, and Dad was a wreck, pacing and talking to himself. He told me we had to pack up and get outta there, so I helped him. Iz was still asleep or knocked out. It took a long time for her to wake up, she slept and slept."

"So the vamps _didn't_ kill the both of them during the attack," Ellen said quietly.

I shook my head. "No 'm," I said. I stared at the table top.

I took a deep breath and continued, "Dad got us a room, and he left to go get some food...and I woke up with Iz on top of me," tears came to my eyes.

"I didn't- I didn't get what she was doing. But then I realized...I realized...that she was trying to bite me. She had—she had-" I couldn't make myself say it.

"She had gotten bit during the tussle, and she had turned?" Ellen asked quietly.

I closed my eyes and nodded, feeling tears slip down the sides of my face.

"And then, then I heard the door open and close, and Dad was yelling at her. She turned to him, and I could see she still had some human left in her. When she turned back to me I could see it in her eyes and I pleaded with her not to bite me..." I shuddered and then took a deep breath.

"I saw him comin' over her shoulder, he was still yellin', an' he had his long knife in his hand. He told me...he said close your eyes, you don't wanna see this. But I couldn't help it, I didn't understand what he was gonna do, I didn't know that's how you kill vamps-"

"Oh, honey," Ellen said sympathetically.

"He grabbed her head and pulled her offa me by her hair and lifted her up in the air and she was snarlin' and hissin', it was like she'd become a animal. I saw him raise the machete and he yelled to close my eyes so I did-" I stopped talking.

There was no way I could ever describe to anyone what had happened next, feeling the warm spray of blood across my face and chest and then hearing the sickening thump as her body fell to the floor.

"I—I- everything went black for a while and then when I woke up I was all clean again and we were in the truck drivin'. Dad had a big bottle of Wild Turkey on the seat next to him and he kept drinkin' it. He pulled over to the side of the road and made me drink some too, he said I hadda forget what happened. He grabbed my head and held it back and poured it into my mouth. I choked so much I almost threw up. He started drivin' again and just drove and drove. I don't- I don't know what he did with her body, I didn't- I didn't even get to say good-bye," and then I put my head down and burst into tears.

I felt arms around me and then Ellen was pulling me to her chest, holding me tightly as I cried.

"Son of a bitch," I heard one of the men say in a choked whisper.

I bawled for what seemed like a long time, hanging on to Ellen's flannel as if for dear life.

Finally Ellen spoke, "Darlin', I'm so, so sorry you had to go through that."

"Listen, Zan—Alexandra-you're gonna stay here with us for now, all right?" Mr. Harvelle said gently, "We'll figure out what to do but you're not going with him."

"But- but he's my dad," I said brokenly.

"Sweetheart, a dad don't do the kinds of things he's done with you," Ellen said, "He's gonna end up getting you killed one of these days, and I can't let that happen."

Mr. Harvelle walked over to a cabinet and took out a tall bottle of something and several small glasses. He poured shots and passed them out.

"Sons of bitches who mistreat their kids deserve to be strung up," Mr. Singer said bitterly, downing his shot. He slammed the glass down and Mr. Harvelle filled it again. He drank the second shot down just as quickly.

The other men and Ellen all drank their shots down. Mr. Harvelle came over to me and put his hand on my shoulder.

"You'll stay here as long as you need," he told me, "You can call me Bill." He smiled at me and squeezed my shoulder.


	8. When the Music's Over

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: The title of this fic and all of the chapter titles are from the band "The Doors", either song titles or lyrics from their songs. Give them a listen, they're amazing!**

 **CONTENT WARNING: Character deaths.**

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That night Ellen and Bill walked me up to my room at bedtime.

"We're not sure what's going to happen yet, but we'll figure it out," Bill said, "We'll get you enrolled in school in the fall and get you some help for your reading problems."

"But—but what about my-"

"Don't you worry 'bout him," Ellen said soothingly, "That's for the grown-ups to think about. Go to sleep, now."

They both gave me a hug and a kiss and Ellen tucked me in. I slept deeply, and didn't have any nightmares that night.

The next day, the Winchesters and Mr. Singer said that they'd be moving on, since my father had technically been found. Ellen planned a big farewell meal for them, and I helped her with the prep work, peeling vegetables and fruit, and she taught me how to make drop biscuits and pie crust.

She leaned over and slid a couple of pies in the oven while I wiped down the table.

Dean came into the kitchen carrying a duffle, followed by Sam. "Hey, is it all right if we do our weapons maintenance in here?"

Ellen turned. "Long as you clean up after yourselves."

"I just want to be in here and smell the pies baking," Dan tipped his head back and sniffed the air appreciatively.

I watched as he and Sam got out a couple of guns and their cleaning supplies and spread them on the table.

"I'm pretty good at field-stripping a gun," I said.

Dean glanced at me. "Oh really?"

I lifted my chin. "Yeah, I am. I'm best with a Browning and a .22."

Dean leaned over and went through the bag, and pulled out a Browning, placing it on the table in front of me. "All right, go ahead," he gestured to me.

I picked up the gun, and began to take it apart, concentrating on all the small parts, and soon I had it laid out in front of me. "Done," I looked up at him.

"Well I'll be damned," Ellen said quietly. She and Sam and Dean were all watching me.

"I can't shoot for shit but I'm good at cleanin'," I told them, repeating what my father always said.

"All right, contest," Dean grinned at me, "Let's see who's faster."

I put the gun back together, and he pulled out a .22, and then looked at me.

"Ready...go!" Sam said, and both of us began to dis-assemble the guns. I heard footsteps come in the kitchen but I was concentrating on the weapon in front of me.

I heard Dean say, "Dammit, it jammed!" and something clattered onto the table.

"Done!" I said again, setting the last piece down. I looked up- Bill and Mr. Winchester were standing in the doorway.

"Well, look at that," Bill said with amazement.

"A kid beat you, Dean?" Mr. Winchester looked like he had a little smirk on his face.

"It jammed on me, this is the one that always jams!" Dean protested.

"That's great, Zan," Bill told me with a smile.

"I'm good at cleanin' and making salt rounds too," I said proudly, "That's about the only thing I do right."

"You want to help us clean?" Dean asked me.

"Dean, be careful, she's a little girl," Mr. Winchester said.

"Geez Dad, sexist much?" Sam asked, "Didn't you just see her field-stripping that gun? If she says she's good at cleaning, I'm inclined to believe her."

I helped them field-strip and clean all the guns in their duffle, and by then it was time to eat.

We were picking up dishes to carry out when the bell over the door rang, meaning that someone had come into the bar.

"Dammit, I thought I locked the door," Ellen said. As she walked towards the bar, she called out, "We're closed right now, we open at 6 pm tonight!"

As we came in we all saw the man standing there. There was the sound of a dish shattering as Bill dropped the pie he was carrying to pull out his gun. Mr. Winchester and Mr. Singer had their guns drawn too.

Just then I realized why the man looked familiar. He had walked up to me outside, but I had forgotten him. My skin broke out in goosebumps again.

"I know you are closed, I took the liberty of letting myself in," the man said. He was wearing the long gray coat, scarf, and hat that he had worn before.

"Well you can just 'take the liberty' of getting the hell off my property," Bill said harshly.

"I mean you no harm, I wish to speak to you," the man's voice was calm and direct, pitched low. "You are all hunters, are you not? I come to you in need of help."

"And what d'you need help with?" Bill asked.

The man removed his hat and looked at all of us. He had long dark hair, slicked back from his face into a ponytail at the base of his neck. His nose and chin were long and sharp, and he had high cheekbones. The most interesting part of his face was that his eyes were silver, and glittered in the light.

"My name is Solomon LeStrange. I am a...Seer, and a practitioner of...many different schools of magick," he said.

Mr. Winchester scoffed, "Magic?"

"For lack of a better term, yes. I have many different..abilities that comprise many of the... magickal arts."

"What help you lookin' for?" Mr. Singer asked.

"You know of the hunter Josiah Fletcher? He...has something that belongs to me... an amulet. I need it back."

"Why don't you ask him, he's around," Bill said.

"Believe me, I have tried. The man is... a drunk, and he drinks himself into a stupor every night. I have searched his possessions and his vehicle three times now while he is unconscious. It does not appear to be with him," Solomon LeStrange's eyes shifted over all of us as he spoke.

"How do you know he has it? Maybe...maybe you misplaced it," Bill said reasonably.

The man narrowed his eyes. "I do not...misplace things. I... saw... him steal it from me, and I have been chasing him across several states. The man has the luck of the dumb and has managed to... elude me for some time. I need it back as soon as possible," he shifted, "If you must know, it is imperative. I have a...tulpa...that I created, that is controlled by the amulet. Without it, the tulpa is wreaking havoc in the small town off of the New England coastline where I was living."

"I heard about that," Mr. Singer said, "Hunters I spoke to weren't sure what they were dealing with."

"I can get it under control, but I need the amulet. The reason I am here is two-fold. I know Fletcher was in here recently, if you could take it upon yourselves to... impress upon him the importance of getting the amulet back to me, that would be most helpful. And...to talk to the child and see if she knows where it is."

I shook my head. "I don't know, sir, honest. Dad never told me about it or showed it to me or nothin'. He—he didn't like me knowin' too much about his hunts." I looked down, but then my eyes were drawn back to looking at him.

"Is there a chance that he has hidden it on your person? Do you wear any jewelry?" His glittering eyes rested on my face and I felt a shiver go up my back.

"No sir," I shook my head again.

"What about in your bags, Zan?" Ellen asked.

"No! It- it ain't there!" I said, with agitation, "I _swear_ it! He never touches my bags!"

"All right, honey," Ellen said soothingly, "Sir, she's had a rough time of it lately. Maybe if I talk to her later-"

He raised his hand, clad in a maroon glove. "I understand. I will meet you at the crossroads of Route 501 and I-70 at midnight, in twenty-four hour's time. I... hope you are in possession of the amulet by then."

He put his hat back on his head and then turned and walked towards the door. He flicked the first two fingers of his right hand and the door swung open of its own accord, and then closed after him.

There was a click and a humming as the jukebox turned on and started playing a song, _"Carry on my wayward sooonnn...there'll be peace when you are done...lay your weary head to reeeest..."_

Everyone let out breaths. "Geez, that was weird," Dean said, "Oh no, the pie!" he stared mournfully at the pie that Bill had dropped. The ceramic pie plate had broken into several pieces and the crust was broken, with pie filling seeping out onto the floor.

We ate quickly- no-one seemed to be in the mood to talk. I was scared. What if they couldn't find it? Would this guy do something to hurt my father? Or me?

Bill was at the end of the table with the two other men, and they talked quietly for a few minutes.

After we finished up, Ellen started serving the pies.

Bill stood up, and Mr. Singer and Mr. Winchester stood up with him.

"We're going to go check Zan's bags for the amulet," Bill said.

I stood up quickly, my chair clattering over. "I _said_ I don't got it!" I protested loudly.

"I know, hon, but your daddy might've hid in it a secret pocket or something. We need to check," The men turned from the table.

 _"No!_ It's my stuff!"

"Zan—darlin'-" Ellen tried to sound reasonable.

I ran after the men, who had started to climb the stairs. They entered the small room, and picked up my two bags. I heard the zippers, and saw Bill dumping my backpack with my coloring books out onto the bed.

 _"Hey!_ Don't _touch_ them! That's _mine!"_ Angry tears filled my eyes, and I ran up to one of them and drummed my fists on their broad back. It was Mr. Winchester. He turned and took my upper arms, walking me backwards and plunking me down in the straight-backed chair.

"You will stay seated in this chair until we are done," he said sternly, "No one is taking any of your things, we need to check-"

"Got it!" Mr. Singer held something up. He turned, and Mr. Winchester walked over to him. Now I remembered seeing it, I hadn't known what it was and hadn't thought anything about it.

"Oh," I said in a small voice, "I, uh, I do 'member seeing that in my bag, but it- I guess it fell to the bottom an' I forgot about it."

"You _forgot_ about it?" Mr. Winchester asked in that same stern voice.

I looked at Bill. "I—I didn't know what it was, an' I never saw it before, and like I said it fell to the bottom of my bag! I'm sorry!" I started to cry.

"It's all right, kid, ya didn't do it on purpose," Mr. Singer said kindly. They turned and left the room.

I noticed Ellen standing by the door. I got up and rushed over to the bed, where my clothing and books and things were all scattered, and burst into tears.

"Why are you crying, honey?" Ellen asked.

"They- they went through my stuff an' it's it's mine and I don't like my stuff being bothered or touched by anyone!"

She put her arms around me and held me. "It's all right, they weren't doing it to be mean or anything, they had to look for the amulet. I'll help you pack if you want."

"No, I'll do it," I said, wiping my eyes.

"You want me to stay here with you?"

"N-no thanks," I said.

"All right, come down and get some pie when you're finished."

When I went downstairs, Jo was in the kitchen. The bar was open, and the men were all gone.

"I think they went to look for your Daddy," Jo told me, serving me a piece of pie.

When I was finished eating, she and I watched part of a movie about teenagers who sang and danced their way through high school. She said she had loved to watch it when she was a teen.

Everyone was on edge the next day. The midnight meeting loomed at the forefront of everyone's mind. I wondered what was going to happen. I didn't know what a seer was, but the man said he practiced lots of magic. What if he turned everyone into animals, or froze them into statues? Would he be angry that my father had stolen something that belonged to him? What if he did something to punish my father for stealing?

Ellen talked to me about chores and showed me how to clean, and I helped her wash dishes and we did some laundry. She explained some about how the bar was run too, and said that I could help out with some stuff like filling salt and pepper shakers and napkin holders. I still wouldn't be allowed in the bar when it was open for business.

That night she kept the bar closed, putting a sign on the door stating family business. We stayed in the kitchen together, the men drinking coffee and chatting occasionally, until it was close to midnight.

"All right, we best be on our way," Bill said, standing up. He put the cap on the bottle of whiskey that they had been adding to their coffees, and put it back in the cabinet.

He walked over to Ellen and put his arms around her, and they hugged tightly and kissed each other. He hugged Jo, and then came over to hug me as well.

"We'll be back soon," he said, following Mr. Winchester and Mr. Singer out the back door.

"See you," Sam called to me as he and Dean followed behind the men.

Ellen looked at me, and I could tell she was nervous. "You should get to bed," she told me.

"Uh-uh," I shook my head, "I gotta stay up and find out what happened."

She sighed. "All right, let me put more coffee on."

Ellen started to clean out the refrigerator just for something to do. Jo and I finished the leftover pie that had been in the fridge, and then made sandwiches out of leftover ham and biscuits and ate them.

Suddenly, there was loud banging on the front door of the bar. Ellen stood up, wiping her hands off, and hurried out of the kitchen, Jo and me trailing behind.

We got into the room just as Ellen was opening the front door of the bar.

Mr. Singer, Mr. Winchester, and Dean and Sam came in. Their faces were pale and shocked looking. I noticed that Dean had a big smear of dried blood across his jacket.

Ellen looked at them, "Where's- where's my husband?"

"Ellen—Ellen, I'm so sorry-" Mr. Singer said.

"What-do-you-mean-" she gritted out.

"Ellen, he's-"

She held her hand up and turned her head away. "Tell me what happened. Just tell me. All of it."

"We met with LeStrange. Fletcher showed up right before midnight and we all started to argue. He was three sheets to the wind, so he was pretty easy to keep quiet while we handed over the amulet," Mr. Winchester explained, "Then after LeStrange left, he, uh, Fletcher, started to get belligerent about Zan. Accused us of kidnapping her, of breaking his family up."

He paused, and then cleared his throat. "Fletcher got angry, and turned into a mean drunk. Words...were said, and punches were thrown," he looked down, "It—it happened so fast. One minute Fletcher had his knife out and he went for Bill, and then- Bill had had his gun drawn, and-"

"Say it, just say it," Ellen whispered, her eyes shining with tears.

"Fletcher was right there all of a sudden, the knife went in, right into the kidney-" Mr. Winchester paused and closed his eyes for a second. He opened them and looked at Ellen, "But at the same time Bill put his gun up to Fletcher's chest, and when the knife went on it must've triggered his finger, and he shot Fletcher, right through the heart. They both dropped- Fletcher was instant, but Bill- he bled out too quickly for us to save him. I'm sorry, Ellen," he shifted his eyes to me, "I'm sorry, Zan."

"So sorry, Ellen," the others mumbled, shifting their feet and looking down, "Sorry, Zan."

Ellen's face was red now, and her chin was trembling.

"Wait-" I said, "You mean Bill- and my dad- are- are-" I stepped over to Ellen and she put her hand up again, stopping me.

"Bill was the love of my life," she said in a shaking voice, "He was my childhood sweetheart. And now he's gone," she turned her head and looked at me, "Because of your- father," he voice was laced with bitterness, "I'm sorry, child, I can't—I can't have you here no more. I can't even look at you."

She turned away, and Jo stepped up to her and they wrapped their arms around each other and began to weep. "We need to call Ash and tell him to get back here," Ellen said to Jo.

"Ellen, I'm sorry!" I said, "I—I-"

"Y'all need to go," Ellen said in a muffled voice.

Mr. Singer looked at Mr. Winchester. "We should take her with us. I, uh, I ain't got no experience with kids, though-"

"We'll take her," Mr. Winchester said, "Sam, Dean, go and get Zan's things. Take her with you, and get a room. Text me when you get settled. We're going to –deal with things here."

"Yessir," Dean said. He looked at me. "C'mon," he said with a jerk of his head. I followed him, and we went up to the small room.

"Everything's all packed," I told them, "I'm always all packed."

"That makes it easier," Sam gave me a small smile.

I stopped next to Ellen on the way out. "Please," I said softly, "I'm so sorry-"

"NO!" Ellen said loudly, "Just- just GO!" She and Jo were still in each other's arms, and Jo was sobbing loudly.

Tears filled my eyes, and I followed Sam and Dean out to their car. Dean opened the back door for me. "Buckle up," he told me as he started the car. I could barely find the buckle through my tears but I managed.

I don't know how long we were in the car for, it seemed like hours and hours. I guess I started to doze, but I woke up when the door slammed. We were parked outside of the office of a small motel.

In a few minutes Dean was back, carrying two room keys. He drove the car around to the back, and parked in a space. We were all quiet as he opened the trunk and got out my backpacks and their duffles.

He pushed the door open and we followed him in.

"I call the shower first," he said.

"Fine," Sam replied, "Is there a sofa bed?"

"Yeah, someone's gonna have to share though. No room for an extra cot or a rollaway," Dean was getting clothes out of his duffle, "Text Dad and let him know where we are," He went into the bathroom and closed the door, and I heard the shower start.

Sam sat down on the side of the bed and pulled out his phone. He leaned over and grabbed the pad of paper that had the motel logo on it, and I saw him texting. Then he set the pad down.

"We usually each take a bed, but Dean and I can team up, and you sleep in the other," he looked at me, "You should probably go to bed, it's really late."

"When is your Dad coming here?" I asked.

"When he gets done there. He and Bobby needed to ...deal with some things."

I realized he probably meant deal with the bodies. Hunters had a certain way of dealing with their dead. And I knew that they wouldn't have left the bodies at the meeting place, they would have brought them back.

"Are they- are they gonna have a funeral for my dad?" I asked hoarsely.

"I honestly don't know," Sam said, "We can talk about that tomorrow. You need sleep."

I woke up hearing the door click shut. Mr. Winchester had come in. He was standing by the door talking quietly to Sam and Dean.

I sat up. "My dad," I said, "what'd you do with him? Where is- what's gonna-" and then it hit me.

I felt pain and loss well up inside me, so much that I felt nauseous. I curled up in a ball. "Oh my God, my dad's dead! What am I gonna do, I got no one now! I'm all alone! My mom's dead and my sister's dead and now my dad's dead!" my voice rose to a shriek.

"Zan. Alexandra," I heard Mr. Winchester's deep voice, "I know you're sad, and scared, but you're not alone. We're here with you, and we- we're going to take care of you for now." He was standing at the foot of the bed, looking down at me.

Dean sat down on the bed next to me. "It's gonna be okay, kiddo," he said gently, "I know-"

I threw myself at him, making a loud keening noise, not even realizing I was doing it. I gripped his shirt so tightly that my fingers hurt. My throat hurt from the shrieking sobs that kept coming out. I felt him stroking the back of my head over and over, the way you'd pet a cat.

I felt him laying me back on the bed, and then someone was wiping my cheeks off with a cloth.

"Blow," someone said, and I opened my eyes. Dean was holding a bandana up to my nose. I blew my nose and then lowered my head. I was exhausted, and started to drift into sleep.

I woke up when it was barely light in the room, feeling surrounded. I opened my eyes and turned my head- I was laying in bed between Sam and Dean. I had fallen asleep on the one bed earlier, alone. I had a vague recollection of waking up crying, and Dean reaching out to me and beckoning me over, and crawling into bed next to him.

Dean was on his stomach with his head facing away. I turned the other way. Sam was laying on his side facing me, one arm under his pillow. His eyelids fluttered open and he noticed me looking at him.

"Shh, s'okay," he murmured. He reached for me and pulled me over to him, into his chest, and put his arm around me. I snuggled into his t-shirt and closed my eyes, listening to his breathing and Dean's breathing behind me.


	9. We Now Must Say Goodbye

**CONTENT WARNING: Funeral of parent.**

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I woke up hearing a metallic thunking sound. I opened my eyes and sat up, looking around. Mr. Winchester was putting the sofa bed back inside the sofa, and the noise of the metallic springs creaking was loud. I watched as he placed the cushions back and then turned. He saw that I was awake.

"Morning," he said.

"Where's, uh, Sam and Dean?" I asked. I still didn't feel quite comfortable with Mr. Winchester.

"Sam's out for a run, Dean went to get breakfast."

"Oh," I looked down at the tangle of blankets around me.

He walked over to the t.v. and turned it on, and he flipped through the channels until he found a baseball game. He sat down with a sigh and put his feet up on the coffee table.

The motel door opened and Sam came in, damp hair sticking to his forehead and neck. His t-shirt was dark with sweat around the neck and under the arms.

"Oh, hey, Zan," he said, leaning down to take off his shoes. "How are you?"

I shrugged.

He walked over to a duffle and dug around in it, removing some clothes and then going into the bathroom. A few moments later I heard the shower start.

I walked over to the sofa and perched on the arm.

Mr. Winchester glanced at me. "Did you fall asleep in your clothes?"

I shrugged. "Don't have pjs, Dad didn't see a need for 'em. Said it was a waste of money."

Mr. Winchester made a sound in the back of his throat, and then with a shock I remembered that my father was dead. Tears came to my eyes and I blinked them back.

The doorknob rattled and then Dean came in the room, his arms full. He had a white paper bag held in his teeth, a cardboard drink carrier in one hand, with a bag hanging from that wrist and then a large brown paper bag in his other hand. He walked over to the sofa and sat down next to his Dad, setting everything down on the coffee table.

He glanced at me. "Hey, Zan," he said, "I wasn't sure what you liked, so I got some doughnuts too."

Mr. Winchester started to unload things onto the table- breakfast sandwiches and a clear plastic container of cut-up fruit.

"That's for Sammy, he's gotta have his fruit in the morning," Dean rolled his eyes, and held a sandwich out to me, "You like sausage, egg, and cheese?"

"Uh, sure," I said, getting off of my perch, "Thanks," I took it from him and unwrapped it. I took a bite, and he handed me a bottle of orange juice. I sat down at the end of the sofa.

The second bite tasted like dirt all of a sudden, and I lost my appetite.

Sam came out of the bathroom, dressed in clean clothes, and walked over to the table.

"Did you get my fruit?" he asked.

"Always, dude," Dean said easily, "There's some doughnuts too if you want."

Sam scoffed, and opened the plastic container. He extended it to me.

"You should have some fru—what's wrong?" he asked me.

I realized I had been just sitting and staring at the ground.

"Uh, nothin'," I said, giving myself a shake.

"Have some," Sam shook the container slightly.

"No thanks, I'm not—I'm not hungry," I said.

I wrapped the sandwich back up and set it on the table. If I had been with my dad I would have eaten it anyway, because with him, you ate when food was offered. For one thing, I never knew when the next meal would be, and for another, to refuse food was to run the risk of getting your head slapped or worse.

I glanced over at them, to see if any of them looked angry and like they were about to come over and smack me upside the head. Dean looked concerned.

"You want a doughnut?" he asked. "I got chocolate covered, honey glazed, boston cream, or chocolate."

"Uh, chocolate, I guess."

He pulled it out of the white paper bag and handed it to me.

I took it, and took a small bite. I tasted the chocolate, but then, the same thing happened, and it was like the flavor just went out of it.

I leaned over and set it next to the sandwich I had abandoned. "Not hungry," I whispered.

"Well, okay, it'll be there for later," Dean smiled at me.

Mr. Winchester took a drink of his coffee. "I want to see if I can get a line on Elkins again," he said, "We'll have to talk to Bobby about tonight as well."

I got off of the sofa and went back over to sit on the bed.

"Do you really think he still has it, after all these years?" Sam asked.

"Yeah, I do," Mr. Winchester replied, "The man's a pack rat and saves everything, and besides, this is an important piece, he won't have just gotten rid of it."

"What makes you think he's just going to give it to you?" Dean asked.

"I don't know if he will, but I'm damn well going to try," Mr. Winchester stood up, "Zan, you up for going to the library?"

I looked over at him and shrugged. "I can stay here if you don't want to bring me with you," I said.

He leaned over and collected some trash, then took it over to the trashcan near the door. "I think it would be better if you came with us."

I lifted my chin. "My dad left me alone all the time, I'm not a little kid, I can take care of myself."

"I'm sure you can, but you're coming with us," Mr. Winchester said.

"After we do some research, we can stop and get lunch," Dean told me with a grin, "We'll find the greasiest-spoon diner there is and then get some pie!"

Sam rolled his eyes. "You and your pie."

Dean gave Sam a look. "Hey, it's a way to eat fruit, isn't it? So you should be happy that I'm eating it!"

They stood up and collected their trash as well, throwing away their cups and wrappers.

"Ready?" Mr. Winchester got his keys out, "It's a little cold out today, do you have a jacket, Zan?" he asked me.

I ducked my head. "Uh, no."

Dean crossed the room in a couple of quick steps and pulled something out of a duffle, tossing it at me. "Here," he said, "that should keep you warm."

It was one of his flannel shirts, and being that I was a kid and he was really tall, it was huge on me. I rolled the sleeves up- and rolled some more- as I followed them out to the car. I sat in the back of Dean's shiny black car and listened as Sam and Dean bickered good-naturedly until we got to the library.

When we got into the library, I followed Sam and Dean over to the rows of public computers.

"Hey, do you want to go get some books?" Sam asked.

I shrugged and glanced around. There was a rack of oversized books of photography, one book was of buildings, another was of nature, and there were a couple of animals.

"I want to look at them," I pointed.

"Okay," Sam agreed, "Bring them over here and sit next to me."

I walked over and took the books off of the shelf, then sat in a chair next to Sam.

"You like animals?" he asked, after watching me paging through one of the books.

"Yeah," I told him, "Mom took me and Iz to a zoo once, and it was really cool."

It had been one of the best days of my life, Iz was 3 and I was 6. We had been so excited to see everything. Iz had loved all the different kinds of animals, and would shriek with excitement and hop up and down and flap her arms. Sometimes people stared but we ignored them.

Somehow Mom had had some money, and she bought us lunch and ice cream and soft pretzels while we were there, and we were able to buy some goat chow and feed the goats and llamas at the petting zoo. Then at the end of the day she had let us each buy a small stuffed animal, and we hid them in our pockets.

When Dad picked us up Iz had been saying the names of all the animals we had seen, over and over again. Dad had told her to be quiet, and I had gotten mad and said that at least she wasn't saying the numbers of Pi like usual. That always got on his nerves real fast. He had yelled at me for mouthing off to him and then reached back and smacked me, and that had been the end of our good day.

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"What do you want, hon?" the waitress asked. Everyone looked at me, and I squirmed uncomfortably, not liking the attention.

"I'm, uh, not really hungry," I said quietly.

"Zan, you barely ate any breakfast," Mr. Winchester said, "You need to eat."

I stared down at the menu. Nothing looked good.

He looked at the waitress. "Could you excuse us a minute?" he asked.

"No problem," she said, and walked away.

Mr. Winchester leaned over. "Ellen told me that you had said before that you weren't hungry because you felt like you had to punish yourself. That's not what's happening here, is it?"

I felt myself blushing, and shook my head.

"What happened is not your fault," he told me, "You're really not hungry?"

I glanced up at him. "Uh, maybe a little," I gave a half-shrug.

"You should eat something," Sam said.

I sighed. "All right," I looked at the menu, grateful that it had photographs of the meals they offered. I pointed to one with a hamburger and french fries. "I'll have that."

Dean smiled at me. "A girl after my own heart!"

When the waitress brought the food, I ate a couple of bites and then the same thing happened. It was as if all the flavor went out of the food and it tasted like nothing.

I put the hamburger down and pushed the fries around on the plate to make it look like I was eating.

"Is the hamburger not to your liking?" Mr. Winchester was watching me.

I shrugged.

"Why are you not eating?"

"Ellen said she doesn't eat much," Sam said.

"It doesn't- doesn't taste good," I whispered.

"What do you mean? It's great!" Dean took a big bite of his cheeseburger.

"I mean it—I eat it and it tastes okay and then...it tastes like nothing," I stared down at my lap.

Mr. Winchester shifted. "I understand. It's—well, sometimes that happens when- when a person is grieving. You still need to eat, because your body needs food to keep going. Eat some more, even if you have to force it."

"Do you want some of my salad?" Sam offered.

I shook my head. I ate a couple french fries, and another bite of the hamburger, and drank some of the lemonade that I had asked for.

"Can I—can I be done?" I whispered. I felt full, like I would explode.

"Did you have enough?" Mr. Winchester asked, and I nodded.

"All right," he said.

"Can I have the rest of your burger?" Dean asked, reaching across the table.

"Dean," Mr. Winchester said reproachfully.

"What, I'm a growing boy," Dean joked, "Call the waitress over here for some pie, too."

"What you are is a bottomless pit," Sam said.

Mr. Winchester's phone rang and he got up as he answered it, and walked outside to talk.

When he came back in, he said, "That was Bobby. We'll meet tonight at 10," he looked at the boys, and then at me, "Zan, we'll be having a funeral for your father tonight."

"Oh. You mean you're gonna—build the fire- thing?" I couldn't remember what it was called.

"A pyre, yes," Mr. Winchester said, "We'll go out to the forest a couple hours away."

"Is- is Ellen having one for-" I looked at Mr. Winchester. I knew that all hunters did this to honor their dead.

"Yes, but we're...she expressed the opinion that we're not, uh, welcome," he told us.

"Man, why does she have to be like that?" Dean asked, "We were friends with the man too, and we did try to save him."

"Grief makes people act differently sometimes. That's how she's dealing with it right now. She'll probably change her mind as time goes by," Mr. Winchester signalled the watiress. "We done here?"

~ ~ spn ~ ~ spn ~ ~ spn ~ ~

The pyre of logs was so tall I couldn't reach the top, where the wrapped body of my father lay.

Mr. Singer had a lighter and a small stick of wood. He held it out to me. "Should Zan- do you want to?" he asked me.

I looked at him. "What?"

"It's customary for the next of kin to light the pyre," Mr. Winchester said.

"Oh. I guess."

Mr. Singer lit the stick of wood, letting it burn for several seconds, and then handed it to me carefully. "Stick it down there towards the bottom.," he pointed.

I did so, and we watched as the fire caught and the flames grew larger.

I stood between Sam and Dean, feeling the heat as the fire crackled and consumed the wood. We stood there for what seemed like hours.

I looked up at the wrapped body on top of the pyre. Life with my father had been nothing but unhappiness. People usually said nice things when someone died. How could you say nice things when the person who died wasn't nice?

The canvas tarp started to catch fire. Once his body was gone, I really would be all alone in the world. We had no relatives that I knew about and my father wasn't the type who had friends, either.

I felt a rush of anger at him and stepped forward.

"You were a jerk!" I said loudly to the pyre. I clenched my fists. "You were a mean jerk to everyone!"

Someone put their hand on my shoulder.

"Why'd you have to be so mean to Iz? She never did nothin' to you! Why'd you have to be so mean to Mom an' yell at her when she wanted to help us! Why—why'd you have to be so mean to me, an' make me do scary things an' yell at me an'-an'-"

I was crying hard by now and I swiped my face with my sleeve. "You called other people assholes but it was _you_ who was the asshole!" I shouted.

Someone pulled me into their chest and put their arms around me. I could tell by the smell of the leather jacket that it was Dean.

"All right," he said soothingly, "All right."

We didn't stay for the whole thing. We were deep in a forest, and we walked back to the clearing where we had parked the vehicles. Mr. Singer got out a silver flask, and they all passed it around and took a swig.

"Take her back, and we'll see to things here," Mr. Winchester said.

I got into Dean's car, and the sound of the tires crunching over gravel and the growl of the engine lulled me to sleep.

I woke up feeling someone touching my feet. I was on the bed in the motel room, and Sam was crouched in front of me, removing my shoes. He looked up and saw I was awake. "You have pajamas?" he asked.

"Uh-uh," I sat up.

He picked up my shoes and carried them over to the bureau, then pulled something out of a duffel and brought it over.

"Here's one of my t-shirts," he said.

"Too tired," I yawned.

"C'mon, you can do it," he encouraged.

I groaned, and then pulled my pants off and tossed them onto the floor.

"Oh," he said with surprise.

I took Dean's flannel off, then I pulled my shirt over my head, and reached for the shirt he had set on the bed, but my eyes were barely open.

"Lift your arms," he said, and I did. I felt him slipping the t-shirt down over my arms, and I pushed my head through the collar. His shirt was so big on me it fell past my knees, like a nightgown. Then I turned and crawled towards the head of the bed.

We all woke up late the next morning. I guessed that Mr. Winchester and Mr. Singer had had to stay until the pyre was completely burned down and then deal with bones and ashes and everything. Sam left to go for a run, but it was a short one, and Dean brought back breakfast again.

He handed me a cup of something. "It's fresh-made oatmeal, I don't know if you'd like that," he said, "I figured maybe if you ate something different-"

"I'll eat it if you don't want it," Sam said.

Iz had loved to eat oatmeal when she was little, but I didn't really like it. I ate it because she had liked it, so I decided to try and choke some down. There were a couple of sugar packets on top of the lid, and I poured them into the bowl and mixed them in. I was able to eat about half of it.

Mr. Winchester had been mostly quiet while we ate, he looked tired. Dean had brought back large coffees for all of them, and a couple of extra cups. He and his Dad had started on their second cups when Mr. Winchester looked at me.

"All right, we need to set some ground rules," he said to me, shifting on the sofa, "You stay with one of us at all times, no going off by yourself. When we stop, one of us will take you to the rest room. If I tell you to stay put, you stay put, and you don't leave the room by yourself. Keep your bags packed at all times, no leaving your things all over. Can you use any weapons?"

"Uh, Dad taught me to shoot a little, but I'm not- not good at it. I know how to clean guns and make salt rounds too. "

"Then I don't want you touching any weapons until I've assessed you. No going in the trunks of our vehicles and messing with anything. You do what you're told, right away, no complaining or mouthing off, and you're respectful at all times. Clean up after yourself. Dirty laundry goes in the blue mesh bag, we do laundry once a week. Do you have enough clothes to get you through a week?"

"Uh- I—I dunno," I said. I just kept re-wearing clothes unless they got too dirty or bloody, and sometimes Dad threw them out.

"Dean, go through her bag and find out what she's got."

Dean looked panicked for a moment. "Why does it have to be me?" he asked.

"You can't go through a little girl's bag of clothes, Dean? What, are you in middle school here?"

Dean blushed. "Fine. C'mon, Zan, you, uh, show me what you got."

I set my backpack on the bed and pulled everything out, sorting through my clothes, and showing him everything. I was embarrassed too, because my underwear was all threadbare and the elastic was coming off parts of it.

Dean walked back over to Mr. Winchester.

"All right, Dad, she's got 3 pairs of pants, 5 short sleeve shirts, two of 'em are ripped and have holes in 'em, 4 pairs of socks, and, uh, her, uh, underwear has, uh, seen better days."

"No pajamas or jacket?" Mr. Winchester asked.

"No sir."

"I had a jacket but it got, uh, it got all tore up," I said, blushing.

"You'll need enough clothes to last you at least a week. Sometimes we can't get to a laundromat for a while."

"I'm okay, I just keep wearing what I got."

"Yeah, but most of your stuff is either stained or ripped up," Dean said.

"And you'll need some long-sleeved shirts and a jacket at the very least, the weather is getting colder," Mr. Winchester said, "All right, we'll go out later and get her some clothes. I need to re-stock some gear anyway. Need more rope and kerosene," He took a drink of his coffee, "We'll need to figure out a routine too, do you take a bath or shower?"

"Uh, shower," I said.

"Probably better if you shower in the evening, the boys usually shower in the morning after training."

"Uh, am I—am I gonna stay with you?" I asked, feeling shy.

"For now, yes. I'm trying to track someone down. Bobby's trying to find out if there are other hunters out there who would be willing to take in a child."

"So- you're just gonna make me go with a, a stranger?" I felt angry suddenly and stood up, "Why don't I just leave now, then! I can take care of myself, ya know!"

"Sit down, Zan," Mr. Winchester said mildly, "We're not going to force you to do anything you don't want. It would be someone that we know, someone already in the life, who knows what you've been through. I don't think putting you in the foster care system would be a good idea."

"They'll still be a stranger to me!" I flared, "What if I don't wanna go with them!"

"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it. Bobby has only just started to put out feelers, and right now, I need to concentrate on what I'm looking for. So you'll be with us for at least a while."

"So I'm gonna go with you on hunts?"

"No, you're going to stay in the motel room while we are working. You can go with whoever is doing research, but on the hunt itself, no."

"I can help with-" I started hopefully.

"That's another bridge we'll cross when we get to it," Mr. Winchester stood up, "Get dressed, we might as well get the shopping done."


	10. Summer's Almost Gone

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: My apologies if the scene with the guns and shooting seems unrealistic. I know nothing about guns, so I had to look up information about them for this story and imagine what I was writing about.**

~ ~ spn ~ ~ spn ~ ~ spn ~ ~

"Sam, you take Zan and help her get clothes. Dean, with me," Mr. Winchester instructed.

"Uh, me?" Sam asked with humor in his voice.

"C'mon, Sammy, help the girl out," Dean said good-naturedly.

"I—I can do it myself, I don't need no help, m' not a baby," I said, lifting my chin.

"No," Mr. Winchester said firmly, "You go with Sam, and you stay with him," he looked me in the eyes, "Understand?"

I felt nervous looking into his intense dark eyes. "Uh, ye- yessir."

He turned to Dean. "Let's go," he nodded at the line of shopping carts and Dean pulled one out.

Sam looked at me. "Well, I guess we should get one too, huh?" he asked. He pulled a cart out, and we began to walk.

"Let's see, where's the kid's section- oh, uh, I guess we should go here," Sam wheeled the cart over to a display that had female mannequins dressed in brightly colored dresses and flowy blouses.

"Uh, Sam," I pointed at the sign. It started with a J, and I knew it didn't say "Girls".

Sam looked up, and then down at me, and blushed slightly. "Oh, this is the Junior's department. I guess you're not a Junior yet, are you?" he chuckled and shook his head.

We walked past and turned left, and then there was the boy's department, and next to that, the girl's.

"So, uh, what size are you?" he asked me.

"Usually 10," I told him.

"What kind of stuff do you like to wear?" He led me over to a display of brightly colored shirts with things like pictures of animals and funny slogans on them.

I looked at some of them, and then back at Sam.

"Get what you want," he told me, "we've got credit cards."

Dad had always grabbed whatever was cheapest or on sale for us. I hadn't ever been allowed to pick.

I chose a white shirt with a heart-shaped rainbow, a pink shirt with a photo on it of a basket of kittens, a light blue shirt with a photo of a dog wearing sunglasses, and another white shirt that had multicolored stars all over it.

Sam led me over to a rack with long sleeved shirts. "Dad said you need some of these," he gestured at them. They were all plain shirts with a couple of buttons at the neck. He helped me find my size and I picked a few in various colors.

We walked over to the jeans, and he helped me sort through everything. There were boot cut and flares and skinny and low rise and he had to ask me what I liked to help me figure out what to pick.

After we had put those in the cart, we walked over to the section with pajamas, socks, and underwear. Sam rifled through the rack and pulled out two sets of flannel pajamas. One set was blue with yellow stars all over it and the other set was red and white plaid. "You like these, or do you wear nightgowns?"

I shrugged. "Doesn't matter."

"Pajamas will probably be warmer," he said.

Mr. Winchester and Dean walked up to us, Dean pushing a cart full of stuff.

"How's it going?" Mr. Winchester asked.

"Almost done," Sam said, "Still need to get her a jacket and some, uh, socks, and y'know, underwear."

Mr. Winchester was looking through what we had put in the cart. I became nervous that he was going to tell me to put the clothes back and scold me for taking so many things.

"Is this enough shirts?" he asked.

I shrugged.

"Sam, take her to the dressing room to try the jeans on," Mr. Winchester instructed, "You remember how hard it was to find you pants that fit when you were a kid."

Sam looked uncomfortable again, and he sighed, but he didn't say anything.

I walked into the dressing room and Sam waited outside for me. Fortunately all of the jeans we had picked fit me, except for one pair.

When I came out of the dressing room hallway, Dean was standing there with Sam. He was holding some clothes. "Look what I found, you gotta have a couple of band shirts, at least," he told me with a grin.

He had a t-shirt with letters, and two other shirts with band logos on them. One had a picture of an old man holding a lantern on it, and the other had a weird spaceship.

"Uh, AC/DC, Led Zeppelin, and Boston," Dean said, holding each shirt up, "And look, I got you a couple of flannel shirts, so now you'll look like a real hunter," he smiled at me again.

"Thanks, Dean," I said, smiling back at him.

I followed them back to where our shopping carts were. Mr. Winchester had put socks and a package of underwear in the cart too.

"Everything fit?" he asked.

"Uh, one pair didn't," I replied. He nodded to me, and Dean and I placed the clothes we were carrying in the cart.

On the way to the check-out line we stopped and looked at jackets. There was a purple one I liked, but none in my size. I had walked away and started to look at blue ones when Dean walked over to me. "Try this on," he handed me the purple jacket.

"Where did you find it?" I asked. It was my size and fit me perfectly.

"Took it off the mannequin," he grinned at me.

I smiled back at him. "Thanks," I said again.

We walked over to the check-out line and Mr. Winchester began to place items on the conveyer belt. Sam had said to us, "Be right back," and disappeared.

Almost all of the clothes were on the belt when Sam showed up again.

"You're going to need a bigger bag for all your clothes," he told me, and he showed me something. It was a duffle bag, but it was bright pink with stripes of pink sequins on it.

"Pink with sequins?" Dean asked, "Really, Sam?"

"At least we'll know which bag is hers," Sam said with a grin, placing it on the counter.

We spent the afternoon doing laundry and they re-organized things in their duffles and the trunks of their vehicles. I packed all my new clothes in the new duffle once they had been washed. Dean had gotten me a couple of books, one was a connect-the-dots coloring book and the other one was a coloring book where you colored different geometric shapes to make patterns.

We ate dinner in the room- Dean went out and brought back pizza and beer, and afterwards he sat on the sofa drinking beer and watching a Clint Eastwood movie marathon. Mr. Winchester looked things up on Sam's laptop, and Sam and I worked on pages in the new books Dean had gotten me.

"Shower and get ready for bed, Zan," Mr. Winchester said from the desk.

I glanced at the clock on the t.v. "I don't go to bed 'til later," I told him.

"You need to get on a schedule, we're going to be traveling, and waking up early every day. I want you in bed by 9."

"Uh...yes sir," I said, and closed the book. I didn't really want to but I didn't want to piss him off. If he was anything like my Dad, you didn't tell him no.

"We can do some more tomorrow," Sam smiled at me.

I walked over to my new duffle and pulled out the plaid pajamas and clean underwear. It felt strange to have so much new clothing, for seemingly no reason.

When I came out of the bathroom, Dean said, "Wow, that was quick."

"What do we do with our dirty clothes?" I asked.

Sam walked over to a blue bag that was on the floor next to the dresser. "In here," he told me. I put my clothes in the bag and sat on the end of the bed, crossing my legs.

"Zan, did you not wash your hair?" Mr. Winchester asked, "Why not?"

"Uh, well, I don't like to go to bed with wet hair," I said, feeling put on the spot.

"There's a hairdryer in the bathroom, how come you didn't use it?" Sam looked at me with a confused look on his face.

"Oh, I uh, I wasn't sure if you'd get, you know, if the noise would uh, bug anyone," I stared at the floor, feeling my face get red. My father would get upset at the sound of the hair dryer running, that was a sure-fire way to end up getting a smack to the back of the head. I'd had to learn to take quick showers and use a hair dryer when he was out getting food or on a hunt.

I saw them all glance at each other. "The noise of the hair dryer isn't going to bother any of us," Mr. Winchester said, "So you make sure you wash your hair when you take showers from now on."

"Yes sir," I said, feeling a little nervous. He seemed a little stern.

"Zan, look at me," he said, and I raised my eyes and looked at him. He was sitting forward with his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped together.

"The way your father treated you—that's not going to happen here. No-one is going to do the things that he did, understand?" his voice was gentle now.

I nodded. "Uh, yessir," I said.

"Are you ready for bed?" he asked.

"Yeah, I brushed my teeth in the shower," I told him.

"All right, in bed with you then," he nodded. I turned and scooted up to the head of the bed, pulling the covers up around me.

Dean and Sam came over to me.

"Night, kiddo," Dean reached down and ruffled my hair.

"Night, Zan," Sam smiled at me and squeezed my shoulder.

"Night," I said, yawning.

I woke up to someone shaking my shoulder. It was Dean. "C'mon with me, we'll go get breakfast, you can pick."

"Okay," I sat up and wiped the sleep out of my eyes, looking around blearily. "Where's your dad and Sam?"

"Dad, uh, had some stuff to do, and Sam's out for a run."

I looked up at him. "I can stay here by myself."

He shook his head. "Nope, you're coming with me, John Winchester's orders."

I sighed and swung my legs over the side of the bed. "Okay."

I got up and shuffled over to my duffel, pulling out jeans and the band t-shirt with the spaceship on it, and then started to take my pajamas off.

"Oh, uh, you should probably wear a flannel today too, it's kinda brisk outside."

I turned, and Dean was averting his eyes, looking embarassed. I realized I should have probably gone into the bathroom to get changed, because he was a stranger, but I hadn't thought about it. My dad had never paid attention to me when I was changing clothes.

I folded my pjs and stuck them in my duffle, and then put my shoes on.

He handed me the purple jacket as we left the room. It was chilly with a breeze outside that made it seem colder, and I was glad I had the flannel and the jacket.

"Where do you want to go?" Dean asked as we pulled onto the road.

"I dunno," I said.

"What do you like to eat? Doughnuts? Pancakes?"

"Uh, can we get...bagels?" I asked hesitantly.

"Sure, I'll see if I can find a place."

After several minutes of driving, he found a coffeehouse and pulled into a space. "Let's go," he said.

I got out of the back and walked next to him.

"What kind do you like?" he asked.

"Just, uh, plain," I said.

They had several different kinds of bagels and also muffins and pastries. Dean got a selection of everything and grabbed a plastic box full of melon slices.

"For Sam," he told me. He ordered coffee, and told me to grab a juice for myself.

When we got back to the room, Sam was sitting in front of his laptop, his hair damp from the shower. Mr. Winchester wasn't back yet. The three of us ate breakfast, and I ate half a bagel before it started to taste like nothing.

"Help me eat this," Sam offered me a melon slice. I took it from him and ate it quickly, enjoying the taste.

"Do you want more?" Sam asked me.

I shook my head, not wanting to risk having the melon end up tasting like nothing.

"You can have more if you want, you know, you don't have to each such small portions," Sam said.

"I just don't eat much, never did. Iz ate enough for both of us, so I always made sure she had more food than me."

"You did the typical big sister thing, huh?" Dean asked.

Sam turned to look at him. "What's that mean?"

Dean shifted, looking a little bit uncomfortable. "I just mean that...when you're the older one, you gotta take care of your little brother or sister, and if that means you go without, then..."

Sam tilted his head. "You—you never went without, Dean."

Dean made a scoffing sound, "You keep thinkin' that, little brother," he stood up and threw his napkin away.

"Wait, Dean, I honestly can't remember there being times when you- when I ate and you-you didn't."

"Well just because you don't remember it doesn't mean it didn't happen!" Dean retorted, and he turned away for a moment. When he turned back his eyes were shiny and his face was red. "Look, there were a couple times when you were real small, Dad...left us for longer than he should have and the food...the food got kinda scarce. So I made sure that you ate."

Sam looked at Dean. "How come...how come you never told me this?"

Dean looked even more uncomfortable. "Because I didn't know that you didn't remember. And hell, you already butt heads with the man enough as it is, I didn't want to give you any more fodder to use against him."

Sam looked at Dean for a long moment, and I couldn't read his expression. "Dean-"

"Look, just drop it, okay!" Dean said sternly. He sounded kinda like his dad. "It happened, it's in the past, just let it go," He walked quickly over to the table next to the door and grabbed his car keys. "I gotta check the—the car," he muttered, and left the room.

Sam sighed and shook his head, picking up the melon rinds off of the table and throwing them away.

Dean entered the room a few minutes later, looking apologetic. "I'm sorry I got pissed," he stared at the floor, "I just- I know you have issues with him, and I don't want to make things worse-"

"Dean, I don't 'have issues' any more. I know he...did the best he could under the circumstances. He's...done a lot to make up for it since then too," Sam looked at his brother. "No hard feelings?"

Dean exhaled. "No hard feelings...and no chick flick moments, okay bitch?" he grinned at Sam.

Sam grinned back and threw a balled- up napkin at Dean. "I wouldn't dream of it, jerk."

Dean walked over to the sofa and threw himself down. "Let's see what kind of B-movie marathon they've got going on today," he picked up the remote and started to look through the channels. "Hey, Zan, you ever seen any John Wayne movies?"

I shook my head. "Who's that?"

He looked at me incredulously. "You don't know- oh, kid, you are in for a _treat,_ come here," he beckoned me, "John Wayne is one of the greatest actors of-"

"If you like goofy cowboy movies," Sam scoffed.

"Man, be quiet and go see if we've got some microwave popcorn in the trunk, would ya?" Dean said. I walked over to him and sat down next to him. He started to explain the plot of the movie that was on the t.v. to me.

Sam left the room, shaking his head, and came back in a couple of minutes with two flat packages wrapped in plastic. He popped the bags of popcorn in the microwave and brought them over, handing Dean a bottle of beer and sitting down on the other side of me.

I woke up hearing a phone ring. I was still between them, but I was curled on my side with my head on Dean's thigh.

"That's such a great ending," he was saying, "Yeah, Dad, what's up? We're just here watching a movie. Oh, okay." he shifted and leaned over me, touching my shoulder. "Zan, you awake? What kind of sub do you like?"

I sat up, rubbing my eyes. "Sub? Like, uh, a sandwich? I, uh, I dunno."

"Cheesesteak? Meatball? BLT? Turkey and bacon?"

"Uh, I don't- we never really ate them, I don't- do they have, uh, peanut butter and jelly?" I asked.

"Do they have PB and J?" Dean asked into the phone. "Yeah, didn't think so. She said she didn't really eat them," he looked at me, "Do you want to try one? Like a meatball sub?"

I shrugged. "Uh, sure, I...guess?"

"She says she'll try a meatball. Sammy, you want the regular?"

"All veggie if they have it," he replied.

"Yeah, a rabbit food sub if they got it," Dean said, "Okay, see you soon," he disconnected the call, "He'll be back soon. You've really never had a meatball sub?"

I shook my head.

"Well you like meatballs, right? This'll be great, you'll like it."

I did not like it. The combination of the meatballs and the bread seemed odd to me, so I ate the meatballs separately. After that I wasn't hungry any more.

Dean found an old black and white movie with Godzilla in it, and all three of them sat down to watch it, laughing at how silly it was every once in a while. Sam tried to explain to me about how Godzilla was actually a symbol for something else, because of the time period that the movie was made, but I didn't understand what he meant.

I woke up when someone jostled me. I was sitting up, but I had ended up falling asleep and leaning my head on Mr. Winchester's arm.

"All right, Zan, to bed with you," he said.

I stood up, yawning, and he reached out and ruffled my hair as I walked by him.

Godzilla had ended and another similar monster movie was about to come on, and Dean and his dad were talking about it and laughing.

When I came out of the bathroom, Sam was standing by his duffle, and he had gotten changed into his pajamas too, blue plaid flannel pants and a long-sleeved blue t-shirt.

He walked over the the bed when I got under the covers, and leaned down to pull them up and tuck me in.

"Good night," he said with a smile.

"Night, Zan," Dean and Mr. Winchester called from the sofa.

"Night," I called.

The next morning, it was just me and Mr. Winchester. He said that the boys were both on a run, and that he would go out and get breakfast when they got back.

He was sitting at the desk near the door, and I noticed that he was looking at a familiar-looking leather-bound book.

I walked over to him. "That- that's my father's journal," I said timidly.

"Yes, it is," Mr. Winchester said.

"Can I- can I see it?"

"No," he said simply, turning a page.

"Wh-why not?"

He turned his head and looked at me. "You don't need to be looking at it."

"I looked at it before, and I looked at some other books he had!"

"No," he repeated, no-nonsense.

"But it's mine now, it was my dad's so now it should be mine, so I _can_ read it."

Mr. Winchester closed the journal and turned his body towards me. "You are not going to read this, or any other journal, or any other hunting materials."

I felt annoyed. "How come you took it? How come I can't see it?" I folded my arms.

He looked surprised. "We're passing the journal around to glean information from it, if you must know. And I've already given you my reasons."

"You- you just said no, that's not a reason!" I protested.

He raised his eyebrows. "All right then, fine. You're not going to read any journals because you're a little girl, and you're not going to go on any more hunts, and that's that."

"I'm _not_ a little girl!" I said hotly.

"You're not a teen _or_ an adult, and you're _certainly_ not a hunter."

"But I-"

He held his hand up. "I don't want to hear any more." he said.

"Tha-that's not fair!" I protested, "It's _my_ book!"

"No, it's not," he said in a hard voice, "and I'm done arguing with you."

I leaned forward and tried to grab it, "It's min-"

He caught my wrist and looked me right in the face. "NO," he said in a loud voice.

I gasped and dropped my eyes, pulling my hand back.

"Go and sit on your bed," he said in a tight voice, "Face the wall, and sit quietly until I tell you that you can get up. Do you understand?"

I looked at his serious face, and gulped, and nodded. Then I trudged over to the bed and sat down, crossing my legs and facing the wall. I played with the seam in my jeans while I waited.

I started to get scared. What had I been thinking, talking to him like that? My father would have smacked me if I had spoken to him that way. I felt tears come to my eyes. What if Mr. Winchester decided that I was too mouthy, too disobedient, and he got rid of me? Where would I go? What would I do? Dad always said that my damn mouth got me in trouble.

I sat up straight and tried to wipe my face with as little movement as possible so that Mr. Winchester wouldn't know I was crying.

Finally I heard him say, "Zan, come here."

I got off of the bed and approached him slowly, my stomach twisting anxiously. Was he going to hit me like my dad did? I still couldn't believe how I'd talked to him.

He closed the journal again and turned to me. "I understand your feelings about the journal and that it should be yours. Someone can keep it for you to read in the future if you want. But right now you don't need to be concerning yourself with things like this."

I looked down at my feet.

"And as far as you arguing with me-"

I raised my head and burst into tears. "I'm sorry!" I wailed, "I don't know what I was thinkin', I won't- I won't talk to you like that again, don't send me away or nothin', I won't say anything any more-" I put my hands up to my face in case he was going to hit me.

He frowned slightly. "I'm not going to send you away, and you're allowed to express yourself, just watch how you speak to me."

"Y-yes s-sir," I sniffled, wiping my face with my palms. He handed me a tissue from the box on the desk.

"You should get dressed," he told me, and turned his attention to the journal again.

"Yes sir," I said again, and I got some clothes out of my duffle. I washed my face off in the bathroom after I changed my clothes and then blew my nose. I could hear conversation in the room by now- Sam and Dean must have come back.

Sam was leaning on the arm of the sofa stretching and Dean was taking his shoes off when I came out of the bathroom.

"Hey, Zan," Dean looked at me for a moment, then smiled at me. He pulled clothes out of his duffle and then went into the bathroom, and a moment later the shower started.

After we ate breakfast, we left the hotel room. Dean said that they were going to practice shooting. We drove to some woods, and met Mr. Winchester in a parking lot. They each had a large olive-green duffle bag, and I tried to follow behind them, but Dean insisted I walk between Sam and him. He had to keep stopping to help me when I kept tripping and almost falling.

"You need some hiking boots," Dean commented as I stopped to pull my tennis shoe free of a vine.

"It's not the shoes, I don't like the woods, I'm always tripping and gettin' caught on stuff."

"You need to learn to be more observant," Mr. Winchester said from ahead, "That will make it easier for you, because you'll see what's there and you can avoid the things that are tripping you up now."

"I just don't like the woods, and they don't like me neither," I grumbled, and Sam and Dean chuckled.

Once we got far enough into the woods, Mr. Winchester set up targets. Dean got out a bow and arrow and set that to the side. Sam unzipped his duffle and sorted through it, pulling out a rifle.

I leaned down and put my hand on a Browning to pull it out of the bag. "I know how to shoot this one," I said.

"Zan, put that down!" Mr. Winchester barked, "You _never_ just pick up a gun like that!"

I jerked my hand back and flinched. "Sor-"

"I said I wanted to assess you, didn't I?" He came over to stand in front of me, crossing his arms. He looked angry and disapproving.

I blushed, "Yes sir-"

He pointed at a fallen log a few feet away. "Go sit down over there. Do _not_ get up until I tell you you can," he snapped.

I flinched again when he moved, and I got up quickly, tears filling my eyes. I sat down on the log and tried to look like I wasn't crying, wiping my face every so often. I was so fucking stupid. My dad always said so, and I couldn't even remember the simplest rules about guns.

Every once in a while Sam or Dean would glance at me over their shoulders. Mr. Winchester talked to them as they practiced, giving them tips on their stance and hand positions. Sam was using a rifle with a scope. Dean picked up the bow and arrow and practiced with that for a while.

Mr. Winchester reached down into the duffle and pulled out the Browning.

"Zan, come here," he called to me. I sat up straight, looking at him.

He beckoned to me, and I stood up, anxiety making my stomach twist. I didn't want him to yell at me again.

I walked over and stood in front of him.

"Now, do you know any gun safety rules at all?" he asked me.

"Uh, don't, uh, point at anyone, always keep it down," I pointed at the ground.

"The first rule is that you stop, and you don't touch a weapon unless you've been given permission by an adult," he said.

"Oh, yeah, I, uh, forgot," I blushed again.

"Zan, look at me," Mr. Winchester said.

I raised my head and looked at him.

His face was serious as he spoke. "You need to be _very_ careful around weapons, _all the time._ It's very easy to get injured if you don't know what you're doing. I want you to make sure you know the rules before I let you start working with any."

"Yes sir," I said carefully.

"What are some other rules?" he asked.

"Um, finger off the trigger until you're ready to shoot," I said, "Gun stays unloaded 'til you need it."

"Good," he said, "Do you know how to check to see if a gun is loaded?"

I shook my head.

"All right, then you ask someone else to check, right?"

"Uh-huh," I agreed.

He motioned to me and I followed him over to where the guys had been standing.

"I want to see how you handle it first," he said, checking the Browning, and then he handed it to me. "It's not loaded, but you pretend it is. Show me what your father taught you."

I held the gun up, and aimed it, and pretended to shoot at the target. Mr. Winchester stood behind me and corrected me, telling me to loosen my grip and drop my shoulder and stand with my feet further apart. Once I had done those things to his satisfaction, he watched me again, and then took the gun from me. He loaded it, and then handed it back to me.

"Go ahead," he said, and I raised the gun and aimed. I fired, and the bullet went into the very edge of the target.

"Good," Mr. Winchester said, "Good first shot," he patted my back.

He took my shoulders and moved me slightly, and held my arms to move them to a better position. The next time I fired the bullet went into the outermost circle. I couldn't seem to get any closer to the bulls-eye though, and I got frustrated after a couple more shots.

"All right," Mr. Winchester took the gun from me, "You're getting upset, I think this is a good stopping point. It's not good to continue practicing when you're frustrated or angry. Mistakes get made. Boys, let's pack up."

The three of them packed the duffles quickly, and we began to walk back through the woods. The sun was starting to get lower in the sky and it was getting a little chilly. I tripped, and then tripped again, and then fell, going down on my knees and getting mud all over my jeans.

"Dammit!" I snapped, feeling tears come to my eyes.

Sam turned and came over to me, and Dean came up behind me. Sam reached a hand down to pull me up.

"Take this," he handed Dean his duffle. Then he squatted down, and turned his head, saying to me, "Grab on and I'll give you a piggyback ride to the car."

"What?' I asked, wiping my face off.

"Piggyback," he said, "so you don't have to walk and keep falling."

I climbed onto his back, saying, "Whoa!" as he straightened up, because he was so tall.

"Put your legs around my waist, that'll help you hold on," he said over his shoulder.

I clasped my hands together in front of his neck and he held on to my wrists, and I wrapped my legs around him like he told me to.

"Boys, come on," Mr. Winchester called.

Once we got to the car, Dean opened the trunk and they put their duffles in. He opened a small green cooler and handed water bottles out. Then he took a bandana out and wet the corner, and came over to me.

"You've got dirt on your face," he said, and he cleaned my cheek off with the bandana.

"Thanks," I said, feeling embarrassed. I climbed into the back seat, and then we drove to a diner to eat dinner.

I was surprised that I actually felt hungry, and I was able to eat a whole hamburger and most of the french fries that came with it. The waitress had given me a paper place mat with games on it and I did the maze and tried to do the word search, but I know I did it wrong because the letters got mixed up.

"Sammy and me want to go out and shoot some pool after this," Dean said.

"All right, just don't stay out too late," Mr. Winchester said, "We've got to get an early start tomorrow."

I looked at him. "Are we going somewhere?"

"Colorado," he told me, "I'm looking for an old friend of mine. It'll take us about 10 hours to get there."

The waitress came over and asked if we wanted dessert, and Dean ordered pie. Mr. Winchester ordered coffee. Dean offered me a bite of pie and I ate it. When they were finished, we slid out of the booth while Mr. Winchester went to pay the bill.

"You're going to go with Dad," Dean said to me as I followed him out to the car, "We're going out."

"Where?" I asked, feeling uncomfortable.

"Gonna go have a couple beers and a game or two of pool. We'll be back soon."

"O-okay," I said.

Mr. Winchester didn't talk on the way back to the motel. He brought the weapons duffles in, and then spread the guns out that had been used earlier in the day.

"Can—can I help?" I asked timidly.

He nodded, and I helped him clean the guns. He found a football game on t.v. and kept in on in the background, glancing over every once in a while.

"It's time for you to get ready for bed," he told me eventually.

I was feeling tired, so I got up, saying, "Yes sir," with a yawn. I changed into my pajamas, grateful that I had a warm flannel set to wear.

I got into bed and pulled the covers up.

"Good night," Mr. Winchester called.

"Night," I replied, and I rolled over and curled up.

I woke up crying in the middle of the night, feeling scared and alone. The room was quiet and mostly dark. I got off my bed and looked over at the other bed; it was empty and the covers undisturbed. I padded across the room to where Mr. Winchester was asleep on the fold-out sofa bed. I was still a little intimidated by him but I figured it would be better to lay with a warm body than by myself, so I laid down next to him and curled up against his back.

After a moment, he rolled over and mumbled, "S'okay, Sammy, Daddy's here, no monsters now, back t'sleep," and he patted my head and put his arm over my shoulders.

I swiped my sleeve across my face and closed my eyes, and I was able to fall asleep.


	11. The Highway to the End of the Night

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Some of you have asked about people's ages- Zan is 10 years old. This AU takes place in season 1 of Supernatural, so Sam is 22 and Dean is 26. Zan's sister Iz died when she was 4 years old and Zan was 7 years old.**

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I woke up hearing Mr. Winchester scolding Sam and Dean. "I told you not to stay out late, I told you my plans for today, and I wake up at 3 AM and you're still not back?"

I rolled over, remembering that I was in the sofa bed. Dean was sitting up on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands, and Sam was standing by the dresser, holding clothes in his hands.

"Five miles, get started," Mr. Winchester said sternly.

"Dad, come on," Dean raised his head and looked at his dad. His hair was disheveled and he looked tired.

"A run will clear your head and get your blood flowing. Would you rather I treat you like a kid, and warm your butt?"

"Yeah, like that will fix it," Sam scoffed.

"Watch your mouth, Samuel. And you'll recall I rarely had to tan you for the same thing twice, so I think you learned from it," Mr. Winchester retorted sternly.

Sam sent Mr. Winchester a glare and went into the bathroom, shutting the door hard.

I sat up, and Mr. Winchester turned to me. "Good, you're up. We're going to get a late start because these two decided to act like they're in high school and stay out all night partying," he gestured at Dean, who grimaced.

Sam came out of the bathroom wearing sweats and began to stretch, and Dean went into the bathroom after getting clothes out of his duffle.

I walked over to my duffle and began to look through it to get some clothes. I pulled out the pink shirt with the kittens on it and a long sleeved shirt, and a pair of jeans.

"Hey, Zan," Sam said quietly.

"Make sure you hydrate," Mr. Winchester said gruffly.

I turned my back to them and quickly got dressed, pulling a flannel on overtop of the shirts. When Dean came out, he looked at me and grinned. "You're starting to layer your clothes like a hunter. What do you think, do I need a shirt like this, Sammy?"

Sam turned and looked at my shirt, shaking his head and laughing. "It looks cute on her. On you, not so much."

"Oh c'mon, I'd look good in pink," Dean joked.

"All right, quit smart mouthing and get a move on," Mr. Winchester said.

Sam and Dean left the room, and Mr. Winchester closed up the sofa bed and set about cleaning the room up.

"I'm going to be organizing things in the trunk," he told me.

I sat on the sofa and colored in the geometric shape coloring book, concentrating on trying to finish the page I had started the other day. The shapes were small and it took a long time to color every single one, and I had picked a lot of colors to use.

The door opened and Mr. Winchester came in with a gust of cold air. I got startled, and had been reaching over to pull a crayon out of the box. My hand hit the box and it tipped over and fell to the floor, scattering crayons all over.

I panicked. "Sorry!" I dove for the crayons, banging my arm on the edge of the table. "M' sorry, I'll clean it up!" Tears filled my eyes as I tried to rub my arm and also scoop the crayons into a pile.

Mr. Winchester came over to me and went down on one knee next to the table. "It's okay, I'll help you," he said.

I barely registered what he said to me, all I could think about was the times that Iz and me had been coloring, and Dad had been pacing around and tripped over the crayons on the floor, or bumped into the table and spilled them.

He had yelled at us for being in the way and making a mess, and then he had hit me because he'd said it was my fault. I was the oldest so it was my job to not make a mess. And one time he had stomped on a bunch of the crayons and broke them, which made Iz scream. He had hit her too, that time, and she hadn't been able to stop crying, and when Mom had come back to the room she had had a huge argument with Dad. They had gone outside and stood by the truck and I was still able to hear them. Afterwards Mom had come inside and held both of us and Dad hadn't come back until much later that night.

"Hey," Mr. Winchester put his hand on top of mine, "What's wrong? Why are you crying? You spilled your crayons, that's nothing to get upset about."

I gasped when he reached out to me and flinched a little when he touched me. "Please d-don't, m'sorry, it was a accident," I whispered.

He frowned a little. "Please don't what?" he said, "Do you think- are you expecting to be punished for knocking your crayons onto the floor?"

He let go of me and I swiped at my eyes, trying not to let the tears fall.

He sighed. Then he said, "Zan, look at me."

I glanced up at him quickly, but I couldn't keep looking at him. He didn't look angry though, just concerned.

"All right, look," he said, "I said this last night and I'm going to say it again. No-one is going to treat you like your father did, all right? I'm not going to take you on hunts or use you to lure anything or—or yell and—hit you like he did."

"Was my fault," I said dully.

He sighed again. "Well, that's-" he stopped, "Just know that it's not going to be the way that it was, all right?"

I nodded slightly, and we both started to pick up the crayons together. I put them on the table, but he put the ones he picked up in the box.

"How come you're not putting them in the box?" he asked me.

I felt myself blushing. "I gotta sort them by color," I said quietly, "Iz did that with stuff and now I hafta do it."

"Oh. Well...can I help you?"

"Uh, sure, I guess, if you want," I moved over to the coffee table and sat back on the sofa.

He scooted over on the floor to the opposite side of the table, and watched as I dumped the box out. He helped me move the crayons into piles.

"When the boys were little kids they rarely colored," he told me.

"Why not?" I asked.

"They were both too busy moving around and playing," he said, "especially Dean. You couldn't get that kid to sit still for anything. Making him sit in time out was the worst thing you could do," he chuckled and shook his head, "when they got older they did color for school projects, but when they were kids it was all super heroes and Matchbox cars and Legos and constant motion."

I picked up the blues and greens and slid them into the box.

"What, uh, what kinds of things did you and your sister play with?" he asked.

I shrugged. "We lost everything after I started kindergarten. We got kicked out of our place and hadda go on the road and there wasn't a lotta room for toys. Mom used to make us little animals out of paper- organini?"

"You mean origami?"

"Yeah, that's it. She could make shapes too, little boxes and stuff. An' we'd play with that."

The door opened and Sam and Dean came in, looking all sweaty. Their faces were red from the cold.

Mr. Winchester stood up. "I brought you in some water, make sure you drink it all," he said, gruff again, "I'm going to run out and grab some breakfast. Be ready to go when I get back."

"Yes sir," Sam and Dean said.

Sam saw what I was doing. "Re-organizing your crayons?" he asked.

"I, uh, spilled them," I said, blushing again.

"Oh," he came over and looked at the page I had been working on. "That's really nice, I like the color combinations," he commented.

I glanced up at him. "Thanks." I continued to sort and put the crayons away.

Dean showered first while Sam stretched. When Dean was finished, he packed up his duffle, and then came over to sit on the sofa and watch me color.

"I always thought coloring was boring when I was a little kid," he said, "I'd rather have been playing with stuff."

Mr. Winchester came back in as Sam came out of the bathroom.

"I got breakfast sandwiches," he told us, "No fresh fruit, sorry Sam." He also had a drink tray with large coffees and a bottle of orange juice.

"The juice is yours, Zan," he told me.

"Thank you," I said quietly.

He pulled out a sandwich and looked at the wrapper. "Sausage, egg, and cheese?" he held it out to me.

"Does someone else want it?" I looked over at Dean.

"There's plenty more, take it," Mr. Winchester said.

I took it. "Thanks," I said, and unwrapped it.

We took the food in the car, and and Dean followed Mr. Winchester onto the highway.

Once he had finished eating, Dean crumpled his third sandwich wrapper and stuffed it into the paper bag.

"Okay Zan, this is for you," he said over his shoulder, and leaned forward, sliding a tape into the radio. A few seconds later, "Break on Through" by The Doors started to play.

"I know The Doors is your favorite band," he said, "and I didn't have any, so I found a tape of their greatest hits when we were shopping."

"Thanks!" I said, smiling at him.

"Finally, something else besides the greatest hits of mullet rock," Sam said.

Dean turned the music up, and said loudly, "Sorry, I can't hear you, the music's too loud."

Sam rolled his eyes and turned to face the window.

Being on the road with Sam and Dean reminded me of being with Iz. They were grownups, but still young enough that they kinda acted like kids sometimes. Dean would do things on purpose to annoy Sam, like turn the music up loud and sing loudly, or Sam would be trying to look at a map and Dean would make the car swerve so that Sam would have trouble reading it. They would bicker and argue about things, but it was usually good-natured, or it would end up getting silly. They made me laugh sometimes.

It was a good distraction from what I was feeling inside. I sat there looking out the window and all of a sudden I felt sad and guilty. I felt like I had done something wrong.

I remembered finding the amulet in my bag when I first got to the Harvelle's- if only I had said something about it at the time, then Bill and my father would be alive. If I had let the men look in my bags when Solomon LeStrange was there, things would have gone differently. It was my fault that they were dead, and now Ellen and Jo and probably Ash all hated me. They were the only people in the world who had seemed to really like me, and I had gone and gotten Bill Harvelle killed, a huge fuck up. That's all I did anyways according to my father.

It seemed like we drove for hours.

"How you holdin' up, kiddo?" Dean caught my eyes in the rear view mirror.

"Okay," I replied.

He glanced at Sam. "She's so quiet, I almost forgot she was back there!"

"You getting hungry? Need to use the restroom?" Sam turned his head to look back at me.

I shook my head.

Sam glanced at Dean and I saw him shrug slightly. "Hey, you want to play a game?" Sam turned back to me again.

"What kind of game?" I asked.

"Well, you look at all the cars driving by and see how many license plates from different states you can find. Whoever has the most states by the time you stop wins," he explained.

"I see a Pennsylvania plate," Dean commented.

"Oh, uh, okay," I said. I didn't know if Ellen had told them about my reading problem or not.

"You want to try?" Sam asked.

"Uh, sure," I said.

He got out a notebook and opened it.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"Keeping track of how many we each see," he said, writing something down, "Okay, you look and tell me what you can find."

I looked out my window. "Um, I see, uh, Ne—neb-rak-" I stopped, "I don't know all the states," I told him.

"That's okay, just read off the names."

I blushed, and then looked down at the floor.

"Was that Nebraska?" he asked.

"Sure," I agreed.

"Okay, I see...Vermont. Geez, what are they doing all the way out here?" he glanced back at me, "Can you find another one?"

I stared out the window, trying to see the license plates. "Uh, I see, Miss-Miss- Miss-is-pippi?" I couldn't remember how to say it.

Sam was looking out the window too. "Which car?"

"The maroon van," I said.

"Oh, that says Missouri," Sam glanced back at me, and I blushed again. "What's wrong?" he asked.

I sank down in the seat. "Nothin'," I said, "Don't want to play any more."

Sam turned his body. "Why not? There's so many cars-"

" 'Cause I just don't okay?" I burst out, "I can't- I'm not good at it!"

"Sam," Dean said, poking at him, and he shook his head when Sam looked at him. "Leave it," he said, his voice a little deeper, "You remember, what Ellen-"

I sat forward, suddenly angry. "Did she say I'm fucking stupid? 'Cause I _am!_ I can't read good, _okay!_ I'm a dummy and all I do is fuck up on hunts an- and get people _killed!"_ I was shouting by now, and I started to cry.

Embarrassed, I pulled my knees up in front of me and curled up in a ball, wrapping my arms around my legs and burying my head on my knees. Tears started to pour down my cheeks.

"Hey," I felt a hand on the back of my head, "Hey, you don't- you're not-" Sam sighed, "You're not dumb just because you have problems reading. I forgot- Ellen told us you probably have dyslexia, and I forgot. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have suggested we play that game, and I'm sorry, okay?"

"And listen, kid, you're not a fuck up, and you didn't get anyone killed," Dean said, "Zan. You listening?"

I raised my head. "If I had said something when I first saw that necklace it would have gone different and then- they'd still be al-"

"You can't know that," Dean shook his head and glanced back at me, "What happened? Not your fault, kiddo. Not your fault at all."

"I mess up everything all the time. He said so," I whispered, trying to make myself stop crying.

"Well, it sounds like he did quite a bit of messing up too," Dean said in an angry tone.

"Dean," Sam said.

"He shouldn't have taken the amulet in the first place! What the hell, you walk up and steal an amulet from a powerful guy like LeStrange and don't expect a little karma to be reaped on your ass? And you know what people said about him-"

 _"Dean,"_ Sam said in a stronger voice, shaking his head.

I wiped my sleeve across my face. "What'd they say?" I asked.

"Nothing," Sam said, "Let's drop it."

"Your dad...wasn't a popular guy," Dean said.

"Geez, Dean why do you have to push things?" Sam asked angrily.

"I know _that,"_ I said, "Nobody liked him and he said that was fine 'cause he didn't like nobody."

Dean scoffed and shook his head. "Hunters are solitary, we all know that, but they also talk to each other and help each other out. It's how information gets passed around and more lives get saved. He wasn't interested in doing anything except carrying out his own little crusade."

"The same could be said about- other people we know," Sam said.

Dean turned to him angrily. "Shut the hell up, Sam! No, Dad doesn't 'play well with others' but he's always been willing to share information and he _does_ have a network of people that he works with and relies on!"

"Okay, okay, point taken, geez," Sam raised his hand.

"Don't fight," I pleaded, "Don't yell at each other," I felt tears come to my eyes again. I felt bad that they were arguing over my father, over that which was my fault.

"We're okay, kid," Dean looked at me in the mirror, "Brothers argue sometimes, ya know? Especially when the younger one is being a little bitch," he shoved Sam's shoulder.

"Piss off, jerk," Sam said, but there was no heat in his voice, and a moment later they grinned at each other. I felt relieved.

The phone rang, and Dean answered it. "Hey, Dad," he said, "How's it- okay. Yeah that's fine. Next exit- 143B? Meet at the Exxon, will do, seeya."

He disconnected the call and glanced at Sam. "Pit stop coming up."

Dean pulled the car into a gas station that had a convenience store attached. He parked on the side of the building, on the end. There was a small grassy area across from the parking spaces with picnic tables, and several people were sitting there and milling around.

Sam, Dean and I got out of the car. Sam's phone rang as he came around the car, and he stood there looking at Dean as he talked.

"You need to use the rest room?" Dean asked me.

Sam motioned to Dean with his head, and they stepped away from the car. "Stay right there," Dean said to me.

I turned around, looking around at everything and how busy it was. And then I saw her.

A little girl with blond curly hair was with the group of people who were at the picnic tables. A breeze blew and her hair moved just the way it used to when my sister was little.

It had to be Iz.

I walked over to the people- she was walking away, with her back to me. I reached her and leaned down, turning her and picking her up, setting her on my hip.

"Isabella! Iz!" I said happily.

It wasn't her.

Curious brown eyes looked up at me instead of Iz's blue ones. It was a little boy. He was wearing a blue shirt with a dump truck on the front. His cheeks were full of something and he waved half a banana at me and said, " 'Nana?" He offered it to me, chewing.

"Oh," I said.

A woman came over to us. "Micah?" she said, and I heard fear in her voice. She came up to me and pulled the little boy out of my arms.

"Who are you?" she demanded, "What the hell are you doing?"

"Oh," I said again, "I thought it was-"

"Well I don't care who you thought it was, you don't just walk around picking up random people's babies!" she snapped.

I felt a hand on my arm and turned my head. Dean was standing next to me.

"I'm sorry-" I started to say, feeling shocked.

"Mister, you better teach your kid some boundaries and manners!" the woman retorted, "You're lucky I don't call the police!"

"Sorry, ma'am," Dean said placatingly. He pulled me away, walking us back towards the car, and I started to cry. I felt sad and lost, and then I felt embarrassed.

"What was that, Zan?" he asked from between clenched teeth.

"Sorry," I said, "I thought it was my sister! I'm sorry! He had the same curls that she used to have, and I thought-" I started to cry harder.

Sam had come over to us and was looking at me questioningly.

"Okay, we need to beat it, she's talking to a cop. C'mon, Zan, get in the car," Dean said quickly. We climbed into the car, and Dean pulled out of the space.

"Call Dad, tell him we'll find another place to stop," Dean told Sam, "I'm gonna get out of the immediate area in case they try to look for us."

I pulled my legs up in front of me and wrapped my arms around them, resting my head on my knees, and wept.


	12. Can You Give Me Sanctuary

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Some of the events and dialogue of the next couple of chapters are loosely based on the Supernatural episode "Dead Man's Blood", season 1 episode 20.**

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"Three point one four one five nine two six five three five eight nine seven nine," I whispered, trying to make myself feel better. It didn't work. I took a deep breath and forced the tears back inside.

"Hey, Dad? We had to go to a different place. Well, Zan, uh," Sam glanced back at me, "I think she thought she saw her sister, and she walked over and picked this kid up. The mother was kinda pissed and started talking to the police, so we high-tailed it out of there. Uh," Sam turned his head and looked out the window, "Dean turned right out of the lot, and then at the first light he turned left-"

"Crossland Parkway," Dean said.

"Crossland Parkway, about five blocks after you turn, there's a Gas-n-Sip on the right. Dean's pulling in now. Okay, bye," Sam disconnected the call and put his phone in his pocket.

Dean put the car in park and they glanced at each other, then both turned at the same time to look back at me.

"Three point one four one five nine two-" I whispered again, raising my head all the way. Time to face the music.

"What?" Dean asked.

"Nothin'," I said. I glanced at him and my eyes filled with tears. I couldn't look at either of them. I stared down at my hands twisted together in my lap.

"I'm sorry," I said hoarsely, "I f-fucked up, and you're gonna kick my ass."

"Uh, no, there's not going to be any ass-kicking going on," Dean said, "Why did you do that, Zan?"

"I—I thought it was her, that kid had the same curls that Iz had when she was a toddler-"

"But it couldn't have been her, because your sister wasn't a toddler when she, uh-" Sam said, "You weren't thinking about that-"

"It's 'cause I'm fuckin' stupid, I _told_ you," I said angrily, "I can't remember _nothin'."_

"You're not stupid-" Sam started to say.

"Yes I _am!"_ I shrieked, "I'm 10 years old and I can barely read!"

"Zan-" Dean sighed.

We heard Mr. Winchester's truck pull up next to us, and he got out, and then came over and got in the back seat next to me.

"What's going on?" he demanded.

"I know I broke your rules an' I didn't listen to Dean an' I walked over an' pissed off this kid's mother an' I f-fucked up," I started to cry harder, "Sorry, I'm sorry, you shouldn't have brung me with you, I'll just keep fuckin' th-things up- g-go ahead-"

I glanced at him to see if his stance had changed, if he was getting ready to hit me. Mr. Winchester was just looking at me with his hands on his thighs, no fists.

I sniffled, "You gonna k-kick my ass now, or when we get to the room?"

He exhaled through his nose. "No ass-kicking, Zan," he said, "I understand what you're going through."

I thought I had mis-heard him. "Wh-what?"

"I understand. For years- after, I would think I saw Mary every so often."

"M-mary? I asked.

"My—wife."

"You did?" Dean asked him.

He glanced at Sam and Dean. "Yes, it's- a common thing with-grief. I'd be at the store and see a woman of the same build and height, with the same blonde hair. It would take everything in me not to rush up to her."

He looked at me. "You've got to always be aware of your surroundings, Zan, and always look around and be checking everything. And don't just rush off, think about it before you move."

"Yessir," I said.

"From now on, you stay in the car until one of us opens the door, and you stay _right by_ us. You don't go _anywhere_ on your own. Understand?" his voice was stern.

"Yessir," I repeated.

"All right," Mr. Winchester looked at me for a moment and I couldn't read his expression. "Come here," he reached for me and pulled me into a quick hug. I was so surprised I didn't flinch, and I just sat there. When he pulled away he ruffled my hair a little. "Do you need to use the restroom?"

"Uh, yeah," I said.

They got out and I waited until Mr. Winchester had walked around and opened my door, then I got out of the car.

"I'll take you in to the rest room," he said, "Hand."

"What?" I looked up at him, and he was holding his hand out.

"Take my hand, people drive like jackasses in these parking lots."

I held his hand as we walked across the lot, and he walked me to the back of the store.

"I'll be right here," he said, as I went into the bathroom.

When I came out, he said, "Do you want anything?"

I shook my head.

"Come with me then, I need a cup of caffeine."

I followed him over to the coffee machines and watched as he poured three cups and added cream and sugar to one.

"Can you take these two?" he asked, and I picked them up carefully.

He put his hand on my shoulder when we left, since my hands were full with the cups. We walked over to the Impala, and he said, "Got you some coffee."

He handed Sam a cup and said to me, "One of those is for Dean." He took the other one out of my hand.

Dean came out of the store carrying a plastic bag.

"This is for you," I held the cup up and he took it out of my hand.

"Thanks, kid," he smiled at me.

"We'll stop for dinner in a couple, but I want to keep going after that," Mr. Winchester said, "We're going to be going up into the mountains, Elkins lived in a cabin deep in the woods. After I talk to him, we can see about getting a room."

"Would he let us stay with him? In the cabin, I mean?" Dean asked.

Mr. Winchester shook his head, "No, the cabin's pretty small, and he's not really a- friendly type. Let's get going."

I got into the back seat of the car and buckled my seatbelt.

Dean reached into the bag he had and turned back to me. "Got some stuff," he handed me back something. It looked like a book, but when you opened it, the inside was a shallow tray. There was a plastic bag full of flat shapes and a booklet in the tray.

"What is it?" I asked.

"It's called Tangrams. Remember, we got a set from that teacher, Mrs. Willoughby?" Dean glanced at Sam.

"Oh yeah, she was all about the learning toys all the time," Sam said, "Wow, I haven't seen those in years."

"So what you do is look at the pictures in the book and make the shapes with the blocks, it's kinda like a puzzle," Dean explained, "It's pretty fun. And this is a travel set, so it's magnetic, and you won't lose the pieces."

I opened the bag and dumped the shapes out. There were flat triangles, squares, and other shapes of different sizes and colors. They stuck to the inside of the tray. I opened the booklet and looked at it. Each page had a different shape to make, like a sailboat, a cat, a house, and it showed you how to make each one with the different blocks.

I looked up at Dean. "Thanks," I said.

"It's something for you to do besides look out the window or listen to us bitch at each other," he grinned at me, "and when you get bored with that-" he reached into the bag again and them held out a plastic block, each face was made up of several smaller blocks that were all the same color. I remembered seeing them in stores.

"A Rubik's cube," Dean grinned again.

"That's a blast from the past," Sam grinned too.

"Sammy here is the only person who's a big enough nerd that he actually solved the damn thing," Dean smirked, and San batted his arm.

I took it from him and set it on the seat next to me. "Thanks," I said again, smiling at him. I couldn't figure out why he was being so nice to me and giving me things, especially right after I'd just screwed up and not listened to him. Maybe he was going to take everything away later as punishment. I figured I'd better enjoy the toys now before they got taken away, so I started to pick up the blocks and arranged them at the bottom of the tray.

Dean started the car and pulled out into traffic.

Making the shapes with the blocks was harder than it looked. The first several pictures showed how to make each shape using the outlines of the blocks, but at the end of the booklet the shapes of the blocks weren't shown at all. I tried to figure a couple of them out but it was difficult.

I woke up hearing paper rattling and sat up a little bit, peering over the front seat. Dean's window was partially open, and I could see them outside, standing next to the front of the car, leaning over the hood, looking at something.

"It's not going to show up on any GPS, I'll try and find it on the map," Mr. Winchester was saying, "I'm not even sure if I remember the whole route, you're gonna have to just follow me up there."

"Are you going to do something about what she did back there?" Dean asked, "I know she's not us, we'd have already had our asses roasted, but c'mon, Corporal Hardass, I know you're not gonna let that go."

"Dean, I'm treading a little light here," Mr. Winchester replied, "Did she deserve a trip over my knee for wandering off and picking up that kid? Yeah, but, I've been... asking around, and it was an, uh- 'open secret' about Zan and her father."

"What?" Sam asked, "What does that mean?"

"People would see her with bruises- and not the normal kind that a kid gets day-to-day. But it was one of those things where nobody said anything."

"Well why the hell not?" Dean sounded angry.

"I think one or two people tried- you know Fletcher was a mean drunk, he actually broke a guy's jaw last year, I don't know if it was over Zan or not. Mostly people just stayed out of his way, he wasn't friendly, and he wasn't good at what he did, so no one wanted to be around his screw-ups either," Mr. Winchester explained.

"And she fell through the cracks," Sam said bitterly.

"She's skittish, because of what he did to her," Mr. Winchester said, "so I want to be careful. I want her to realize that not everyone is going to be like her father."

"Man, it sounds like he was a total dick through and through," Dean's voice was hard.

"Dean-"

I sat up all the way and rubbed my eyes, not wanting to hear anything else they might say about my father.

"She's up," I heard one of them say.

"Hey," Dean opened his door and leaned into the front seat, "How's it going? You ready to eat?"

"Okay," I yawned, and he closed his door and then opened mine. I removed my seatbelt and then got out of the car, and took his hand as we walked. Sam was trying to fold a big paper map up.

We only had to wait for a couple of minutes before the waitress led us to a booth. "This okay?" she asked.

Mr. Winchester and Dean sat across from Sam and me. He let me get into the booth first.

"What can I get y'all to drink?" she asked, looking at all of us.

"Coffee," Mr. Winchester said.

"Coke," Dean opened his menu.

"I'll have water," Sam said. Everyone turned their attention to me.

"Uh, water, please," I said quietly.

I opened my menu and tried to look at all of them without actually seeming like I was. I had an odd feeling in the pit of my stomach after hearing them talking about my father and me. My father had talked about other hunters, he had talked about what a bunch of useless morons and unfriendly douchebags they were. Some he mentioned by name, more than once.

When I had bruises, he usually made me stay in the room until they were healed up enough that people wouldn't stare when we walked through a store. There were times, though, that he hadn't seemed to care and he'd just been focused on moving to the next place, the next hunt, and I'd had to go with him into the Gas-n-Sip or the McDonald's, and run the risk of someone staring at me or trying to catch my eye, or worst of all, hearing someone gasp when they caught a glimpse of the bruise on my cheek or my fat lip. Hearing a gasp from someone usually meant that I'd get it again later for attracting attention.

I had learned to always wear long sleeves and pants where ever we went. I had had a hoodie but I had outgrown it, so I had to settle for walking with my head down so that my hair swung down and covered my face.

I hadn't ever heard that anyone talked about me- or us, although Ellen had said she had "heard about" Iz and me through the "hunter's grapevine". If people really thought things were so bad, how come nobody did anything? Weren't people supposed to rescue kids who were being hurt and take them away to live with nice people? It wasn't that bad if no one had taken us away. Besides, it usually _was_ my fault. I screwed things up over and over, no matter what he tried to teach me. I was stupid, and I couldn't learn.

"Zan, hey, you in there?" Dean snapped his fingers in front of my face, and I flinched back.

I looked around at all of them, blinking- they were looking at me again. The waitress was standing there again, holding her pad and pen. She raised her eyebrows. "Do you need another minute, hon?" she asked.

I blushed, staring down at the menu, looking at all the words. There were no photographs in this menu, just lots and lots of words and numbers.

"I'll just have, uh, a hamburger with ketchup and mustard, and french fries," I said quietly.

"You want the kids' meal or the regular size?"

"Uh, kid's, I guess," I said.

"If you're hungry, get the larger size," Mr. Winchester said.

I shook my head. I doubted I'd be able to eat everything anyway.

"So what's the plan," Sam asked, "We're going to just show up at this guy's cabin out of the blue, and you're going to ask him for something?"

"I've been trying to get in touch with him, Sam," Mr. Winchester said, "and I've asked around about him too."

"Are you even going to tell us what it is that this guy has?" Sam shifted in the booth and looked at his Dad.

Mr. Winchester dropped his eyes. "It's- a gun."

"We came all the way out here for a-" Sam started.

Mr. Winchester cut him off. "Yes, a gun, it's a special gun, and I'd appreciate you not questioning everything that I say right now!"

He raised his eyes and glared at Sam, and Sam gave him the same glare back, and a muscle jumped in Sam's cheek as he clenched his jaw.

"It would be nice if you'd clue us in on what's happening from time to time," Sam muttered.

"When I get all the pieces in place, then I'll let you know!" Mr. Winchester snapped, "Until then, just trust that I know what I'm doing!"

"Yeah but Dad, you can't keep treating us like this-"

"Like what?"

"Like we're children!" Sam's jaw jutted out defiantly as he lifted his chin.

"Well you _are_ my children, and I intend on trying to keep you as safe as I can for as long as I can."

"That's ridiculous-" Sam said, and then the waitress was there with a big tray of food. After she had left, Sam leaned forward. "You can't expect us-"

"Look, Sam, just drop it, okay?" Dean asked, "I'd like to have a pleasant meal without you two in each other's faces."

"Fine," Sam muttered.

The tension at the table had made the knot in my stomach twist even tighter. Dean caught my eye and smiled at me. "You want some ketchup for those fries?" he asked.

I shook my head. I tried to eat, but everything tasted like nothing. I forced myself to eat, worried that Mr. Winchester would get angry with me. I should't be wasting good food.

"How is it?" he asked, looking at me.

"It's okay," I muttered, staring down at my plate.

Mr. Winchester didn't want to stay for dessert or coffee, he was still trying to get in touch with his friend. He said he had to make some phone calls and went to sit in his truck.

There was a small playground at a little roadside church across the street from the diner.

"You want to go over, Zan, and play a little?" Dean asked me.

"Uh, okay," I said hesitantly.

Sam and Dean each took one of my hands and we ran across the road together, to the playground yard.

"Go ahead," Dean let me go. He and Sam stood underneath a tree. There were a few other kids running around. I wandered around looking at everything. When we had gone to a playground in the past it had been my job to watch Iz and make sure she didn't hurt herself.

The swings were something we had both liked, but all of them were being used. Iz had also loved to go down slides, so I walked over to a tall one that was here. I took a deep breath and walked up the metal steps, and then I got to the platform at the top. I looked down, and then I got scared all of a sudden. It was so high up, higher than I had ever been. I gripped the metal railing and tried to move, but I couldn't. Panic made my stomach twist and my limbs freeze in place.

"Hey, kid, are you gonna go down the slide or what?" I heard a boy's voice behind and beneath me.

"Can't-" I whispered.

"What, are you scared?" he jeered, "Move it!"

I felt a hand on my ankle and I kicked out and shrieked in terror.

"Hey!" I heard a deep voice below me that I recognized as Dean's. "Don't grab her like that! Move, kid, get outta the way."

I heard grumbling, and footsteps clanging on the metal steps, and then more.

"Zan," Dean said from behind me, and his voice was patient, "What's up?"

"It's too high up, I can't move, I'm not—" I glanced over the edge again and then squinched my eyes shut, making a sound in the back of my throat.

"All right," he said calmly, "all right. You wanna get down?"

"Yeah," I whispered.

"Okay, I'm gonna help you. Can you grab ahold of me?"

I shook my head. "Don't wanna leggo!"

"Okay, I'm gonna take your hand. You grab me when I put your hand on my shoulder, all right?"

He took my wrist, and I let out a little shriek when he lifted my hand off of the cold metal.

"Zan, I'm right below you, I'll catch you-" Sam called.

"You hear that? Sammy's right beneath you, all right?" I felt my hand moving through the air, then it landed on something soft and cold- Dean's leather jacket. I gripped it tightly and whimpered.

"Good girl. Turn towards me a little," he said, "Now the other hand."

Somehow he reached around me and took my other wrist, and then he was guiding it over to his other shoulder, and I turned my body.

I felt hands on my waist. "Okay, I'm picking you up," he said, and he lifted me. I cried out as my feet left the solid metal, and I wrapped my arms and legs around his torso, clinging to him tightly.

"Okay, I gotcha," he said soothingly, "I gotcha, you're doing good, we're gonna go down the steps now, okay?"

I felt us moving, descending, and then Dean said, "Okay, we're on the ground. Good job, Zan."

I burst into tears, burying my face in his shoulder. I felt his hand on my back as he walked, and then I heard footsteps crunching on gravel.

I heard Mr. Winchester's deep voice, "What happened?"

"She got stuck at the top of the slide," Sam told him.

"Well I guess we've discovered that Zan is scared of heights," Dean said, "You okay now, kiddo?" he asked, "Let me put you down."

I opened my eyes and slid down onto the ground and Dean produced a bandana and gave it to me, and I wiped my tears away.

"Elkins isn't answering any of his phones, so I want to just go. He might be hunting," Mr. Winchester said. He looked at me, "You gonna be okay?" he asked kindly.

I nodded.

"It's okay, Zan, Sammy here is scared of clowns," Dean said, and Sam smacked Dean's arm.

"C'mon," Sam took my hand, and we walked back to the car to follow Mr. Winchester.


	13. Break on Through

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Short chapter this time, I've sprained my hand and wrist and typing is painful right now. I already had most of this chapter written before I injured myself, so I just had to do some minor tweaking before publishing. So frustrating because I want to write, but I know I need to rest! Again, some of the dialogue and events in this chapter are loosely based on the Supernatural episode 'Dead Man's Blood', Season 1, episode 20.**

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We were so far up into the mountains it had snowed. I had never been on a mountain or in an area like this before. The full moon was high overhead and shining on the snow that had fallen, and it was freezing outside.

"He's not answering his cell, but that doesn't mean anything," Mr. Winchester told us, "He's a hermit so he rarely talks to people. I' m going to go first and check the cabin, he doesn't take kindly to strangers. And I'll have to see if he'll even talk to me."

"What do you mean?" Sam asked.

"Elkins and I had a...a kind of falling out years ago, haven't seen him in years. Cell phone reception may be spotty here so if I can't get through, I'll message you on the walkie." Mr. Winchester clipped a walkie talkie to his pocket and slid a holstered knife onto his belt, as well as another gun, and picked up a flashlight.

"Sit tight," he slammed his trunk shut, and walked towards the trees.

"We might as well stay warm," Dean said, and we got back into the car. Dean turned the heat on and the music on, low. Sam and Dean chatted every so often.

I had almost fallen asleep when the walkie-talkie crackled to life. "There's no one here, I need to you to come help me look. I'll be there shortly."

Eventually we saw Mr. Winchester walking out of the woods.

Dean opened his door. "We all gonna go?" he asked.

"Yeah, I don't want to leave her here, there's evidence of foul play at the cabin, and I'm not sure what's out here."

"Dad, can't we just come back tomorrow? I mean, if he's gone, and there's evidence of foul play, nothing will have changed by the morning." Sam said.

"No, I want to check the cabin over, and I want you to help me. Now stop questioning me and let's go!" Mr. Winchester snapped.

We got out of the car and started to walk. We could see our breath, and even though I had Sam's hoodie on over top of my jacket I was still freezing. The snow that had fallen on the ground covered over the roots and branches that were there, so I tripped a lot.

After maybe the fourth time of me tripping and catching myself, Dean stopped, and then came over to me. "C'mere," he said, and he swung me up onto his hip like I was a little kid. It normally would have made me feel embarrassed, but I didn't mind, because I was cold and tired and scared. I held tightly to his shoulders as he carried me.

We saw the cabin up ahead and Dean put me down. Mr. Winchester led us inside. It had wood floors and stone and wood walls, with a huge fireplace at one end. The main room was all open, a combination living room, kitchen, and dining area. One wall was taken up with large bulletin boards with all kinds of things pinned up, newspaper articles that had yellowed with age, drawings, old photos, hand-written notes, and maps. There were charts and areas where there were papers that were connected with strings that stretched across a whole board.

"In here," Mr. Winchester said. We followed him into the other room. It was a mess, and freezing cold. There were two huge skylights that had been knocked out, and the glass crunched underfoot at every step. I stood by the door with my hands in my pockets, shivering.

"People have been disappearing in the area, the official story is bear attacks," Mr. Winchester commented.

"Doesn't look like a bear did this," Dean pointed at the skylights.

It looked like a huge bookcase had been moved in front of the door, and then knocked over. Books were scattered every where and there were also pieces of smashed pottery and vases and a couple of lamps that had fallen down and broken too.

The floor was wood with large throw rugs, and Sam called, "Found some footprints," He was shining a flashlight on a part of the floor.

Dean walked over and shined his flashlight down on the floor too. "That looks like blood, and scratches- what is that-?" He pulled a notebook out of his pocket and leaned over the desk, grabbing a pencil, then squatted down. When he stood up, he said, "Look familiar?" He held the paper up showing his pencil rubbings.

"Three letters, six digits," Sam said.

Mr. Winchester had been across the room. "That's a mail drop, I'll find it tomorrow," he said, walking over to Sam and Dean. "Found something," he held his hand out, palm flat.

"What is it?" Sam asked.

"A tooth," Dean picked it up and looked at it, then looked at his dad, "What kind of animal is this from?"

"Not an animal," Mr. Winchester said, "A vamp."

Sam and Dean looked at him, questioning.

"They're what Daniel Elkins killed best. They've been after him his whole life," Mr. Winchester said.

"A- a vamp?" I asked, swallowing uneasily, "As in a vampire?" I felt panic suddenly rising up in me, and looked around. "He- he was killed by a _vampire?"_ my voice rose to almost a scream, "What- what if they come back? What if they're here now, and they get us! Oh my God they could be here right now!" I screamed, looking at all of them.

"Zan, no, it's all right-" Sam started to say, walking towards me.

"No it's not all right! There was a vampire here and it could come back and kill all of us! You don't understand!" I turned, looking around, and there was the sound of a scream from the woods. I started, and let out a shriek.

"Just a fox, they scream like that," Mr. Winchester said, "Calm down, Zan, take a deep breath."

The trees over top of the windows rustled, and then there was loud hooting, and a large owl swooped down into the room and flew around, and then landed on the top of the doorframe, glaring at us and ruffling its feathers.

I ran away from the door, towards Sam and Dean. "What if that's it? Can't they turn into different animals? It's going to eat all of us, I know it!" I screamed, grabbing at someone, and then it was like I was right back there in the other hotel room watching my Mom fighting the group of vampires. I had seen blood, I had seen one of them biting her, I had blocked it out. Until now. Mom had caught my eyes from across the room and she had mouthed, "Take your sister and run," but she could barely speak. And then Iz had run into the middle of the fray, and I couldn't leave. I couldn't leave my little sister or my Mom. And I had just stood there and watched my Mom get sucked dry by a vamp, until she went completely white and her eyes closed.

I was moving. And being held- no, being carried in someone's arms. I had been crying so hard I could barely see, and now my face was buried in flannel and suede. We were outside again and the only sounds were the crunching of boots in the snow. I moved my head a little and looked up, and then realized with a shock that it was Mr. Winchester who was carrying me.

"Wha—happ'ned?" I mumbled, shivering.

"Shh, we're amost there," he said, and I could feel his voice rumble in his chest.

Finally we had made it to the small clearing where the vehicles were. We stopped moving.

Mr. Winchester looked down at me finally. "You back with us now?"

"Wha' d'you mean?" my face was drenched with tears.

"You started to- well, basically it looked like a flashback to me," he said.

"What's a flashback?" I sniffled.

"It's when you remember something but the memory is so strong it's like you're there and you're reliving the event," he told me, "you started to get real anxious and it looked like you were on the verge of a panic attack, then the way you started talking made me realize you were flashing back to the night your family was attacked," he shifted me upright and held me on his hip.

"Get her something to eat and drink," Mr. Winchester instructed.

Dean came over with a water bottle and a granola bar. He took the cap off of the bottle and handed it to me, his brows creased in a concerned frown.

"Eating and drinking will help you be more in the present," Mr. Winchester said, looking at me. I took a long drink of water from the bottle.

Dean tore open the wrapper of the granola bar and took the bottle from me, handing me the bar. I took a bite and chewed it slowly. It did make me feel more like I was in the here and now.

"I'm cold," I said, and it came out as a whine, and then I blinked and cringed, expecting a blow. My father hadn't tolerated whining, and his swats to the back of the head had pretty well trained me not to whine.

"Sorry!" I said quickly, and then I burst into tears. I buried my head into Mr. Winchester's shoulder. I felt his hand on my back.

"It's all right," he said soothingly.

"Car's warm now," Sam said. I heard the creaking of the door, and Mr. Winchester walked over to the back and set me down on the seat. There was a sleeping bag unrolled on the back seat.

I looked up at him, "M' cold," and my voice came out a whine again.

He looked down and saw that my shoes and hems of my jeans were wet from having walked through the snow.

"Dean, grab a pair of her pants, and a pair of warm socks," Mr. Winchester told him, "She's been walking in the snow in tennis shoes, I didn't even think about that. Get a towel too."

Dean handed him a towel and Mr. Winchester leaned down and dried off my pants legs as best he could, then he removed my shoes and socks. My feet were bright red and burning with pain as he rubbed them dry.

Dean handed me my plaid pajama pants and I pulled my jeans off and changed into the pjs. I was shaking from the cold. Dean slid a pair of thick socks onto my feet that were kindof scratchy.

"These are ragg wool socks, made for keeping feet warm," Mr. Winchester rubbed my feet a little bit more, "Get inside the sleeping bag, and finish the water and granola bar," he said to me. I crawled into the sleeping bag and Dean handed me the water.

"See if you can get her to eat something else too, and keep talking to her," Mr. Winchester said, "Follow me down, if we get separated, go to that motel off of I-266, the Sunrise Inn."

"Okay, Dad," Dean said. He got into the front, and I heard Mr. Winchester say something to Sam. Sam walked around and got into the back with me.

"He wants me to sit with you," he told me. He had a knit cap and a pair of gloves, and he put the hat on my head and then pulled the hood up over it. "This'll help you feel warmer too."

I chewed my way through the granola bar even though by now it tasted like cardboard.

"Want another one?" Sam asked.

"Uh-uh," I said.

"Did you finish the water?" he asked.

"Almost," I said.

Sam had a plastic bag on his lap. "Want something else? Potato chips? Cookies?"

"Hey, is that my road food?" Dean asked, glancing back at us.

I shook my head. "Don't want anything else."

Sam pulled the sleeping bag around me and put his arm around my shoulders, rubbing my back. "You feeling warmer?" he asked.

"Yeah, thanks," I mumbled, glancing at him. He was watching me.

"So, uh, what, what kind of stuff did you like to study in school?" Sam asked awkwardly.

"Well, um, I liked math," I said, "but I wasn't in school much before my dad took me out."

"Oh," Sam frowned slightly, "you mean he took you out permanently? Why'd he do that?"

"Be—because he said it wasn't safe, after the vamps- he said he couldn't trust anyone-" and my eyes filled with tears again.

I heard Dean hiss something, and Sam hissed back, "I was trying to get her to talk, I didn't know!"

He put his arm around me again and said, "It's okay, you're safe now. Just keep telling yourself that, you're all right."

That was what Mr. Winchester had said to me in the cabin. Just then I realized something. "Your dad- he was looking for something, he was looking for clues about his friend, and I made you all have to leave because I flipped out!" I burst into tears, "I'm sorry!" I wailed, "I'm sorry! I probably ruined everything, now he won't find what he was looking for and then the clues to help find his friend will be all gone and it's all my fault!"

 _"Zan!_ HEY ZAN!" Dean yelled, _"Stop_ , would ya? Just listen!"

I looked at him.

"Don't blame yourself. Everything's going to be there in the morning. You—you needed help. It's okay, no one's upset with you and you're not in trouble."

Sam looked down at me and smiled, rubbing my shoulder. I tried to stop crying. Eventually the warmth of the car and my exhaustion from all the crying made me fall asleep.

I woke up slowly. I was in the sleeping bag, on the bed, in between Sam and Dean. Dean was on his side facing me with his arm thrown over me, and my face was nestled in his neck. My arm was behind me and I was holding on to one of Sam's hands.

I remembered what had happened at the cabin. The memories of the night my mom and sister were killed had risen up like a wave and I was wailing and crying, and Mr. Winchester had come over to me. He had a funny look on his face and for some reason I thought he was going to slap me- that's what my father would have done.

Instead he had put his hand on my arm and talked to me calmly, telling me that I was remembering something from the past and that I was safe now, that it was okay to remember and feel the feelings, and I was going to get through it and still be safe. Then he had leaned down and picked me up in his arms, holding me against his chest like I was a baby.

"Let's go, we need to get her out of here," he'd said to Sam and Dean.

I had fallen asleep in the car on the way to the motel, and woken up when Sam was carrying me into the room. I had started crying again and grabbed onto him, and he had held my hand as I fell back to sleep. I woke up a couple more times, crying from bad dreams, and Sam and Dean decided to lay with me to keep me quiet. As long as I was touching someone I felt safe.

I sat up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, and went to the bathroom. Then I walked over and sat down on the end of the sofa. Sam and Dean were deeply asleep in the queen- sized bed.

The door opened and Mr. Winchester came in, carrying a couple of bags and a drink container. He was wearing a black knitted cap and his face was red from the cold.

"It's really cold today," he commented, "Brought you a hot chocolate," he said, handing me a cup. "How are you doing?" he asked, sitting down next to me.

"Tired," I said, "How- uh, how'd you know about last night, I mean about the flash- the uh, memory thing and all?" I wrapped my hands around the cup, grateful for the warmth.

"Flashback," he said, "Well, I used to have them too."

I looked at him, surprised. "You did?"

He nodded and took a sip of his coffee. "People who have been through a traumatic situation can have them. When I came back from the war I used to have them sometimes."

"Dad, I never knew that," Dean was sitting up in bed.

"It's not something I advertise," Mr. Winchester said, "Not something I want people knowing about, lots of people don't understand. I've learned how to handle it, and it rarely happens any more."

"Did you- I mean, when you'd go off by yourself sometimes for a while, was that because- you were dealing with- a flashback?"

Mr. Winchester nodded. "I didn't really want you boys to see me, and you, Dean, I felt like I'd already put too much on your plate caring for Sammy. I didn't want you to feel like you had to take care of your crazy old man crying over something that had happened decades ago."

"Dad, you're not crazy, and I wouldn't have cared about that," Dean said softly.

Sam rolled over and sat up too. "Maybe we could have- could've helped you somehow," he said, and his eyes looked wet.

Mr. Winchester shrugged. "Back then they didn't know much about it, vets were supposed to just deal with it on their own. I got through it."

"Well- in the future, let us know, you know, if you need, you know, help or anything," Sam said awkwardly.

"All right, Sam," Mr. Winchester gave him a brief smile. I got the feeling he wanted to drop it. He pulled an envelope out of an inner jacket pocket.

"Found the Post Office, Elkins had left me a letter. They got him, and that son of a bitch had it the whole time."

"What do you mean? Did he say that he had it?" Dean asked.

"It's one of those, 'If you're reading this, I'm already dead' type of letters," Mr. Winchester said, "Did either of you happen to notice a gun case while we were looking around?"

Sam and Dean both shook their heads.

"Dammit! That means they must have it," Mr. Winchester stood up, "We're going to have to go after them, find them, and get the Colt from them."

"I don't get it, what's so special about this gun?" Dean asked.

"Well, here's what Elkins told me about it. Back in 1835, when Halley's comet was overhead, the same night those men died at the Alamo, they say Samuel Colt made a gun -a special gun. He made it for a hunter, a man like us, only on horseback. Story goes he made thirteen bullets, and this hunter used the gun a half dozen times before he disappeared, the gun along with him. And somehow Daniel got his hands on it," Mr. Winchester explained, "They say... they say this gun can kill anything."

"Like, supernatural anything?" Sam asked.

"Like..." Dean said, and Mr. Winchester nodded, "If this kills anything, then I may have found a way to destroy that- thing."

"What- what thing?" I asked, looking back and forth at all of them.

"The thing that killed our mother," Dean told me, getting out of bed. "Well, I guess we go hunt down this gun."

"I want to go back to the cabin and search for more clues," Mr. Winchester said, "Elkins may have been tracking a nest or have clues as to their whereabouts in there." He turned to look at me. "Zan, are you going to be all right going back to the cabin? I don't really want to leave you alone after last night."

"We'll be there with you, you'll be safe," Dean smiled at me.

"I don't want to be alone, I'll go with you," I said.

"All right, good." Mr. Winchester raised one of the paper bags he had brought in. "Let's eat so we can get going."


	14. Crying Red Rivers of Weeping

On the way to the cabin, we stopped at a store that sold supplies for camping and hunting, and Mr. Winchester had insisted that I get a pair of hiking boots and a heavy coat. I only had tennis shoes and they were still wet and cold from the night before.

The hiking boots didn't seem to keep me from tripping over things, but at least my feet were warm and dry. I followed behind Sam as we walked through the forest. The day was bright and cold as we walked, and we could see our breath.

My stomach twisted nervously the closer we got to the cabin. Once we were inside, Mr. Winchester beckoned me. He handed me a flashlight that had a long bulb in it.

"You're going to man the light for me," he told me, "I want you to hold it up for me so that I can see what's around."

Even though the sun was high overhead, it was still dim in parts of the cabin because of the trees that surrounded the building. I stayed by Mr. Winchester as he went through piles of books and newspapers on the floor, holding the light where he told me to. He kept my attention by talking to me every so often.

"Is this the box?" Dean brought over an old looking wooden box, with a hollowed out space for a gun inside and small round holes for bullets.

"Yes, it most likely is," Mr. Winchester said, "Keep looking, see if you can find any info on vampires."

I followed him as he combed through the room, and then he found Elkin's journal. "I'll have to spend some time looking through this later, don't have time right now." he said. He found a canvas bag with a shoulder strap, and put the journal in it, and then spent some time removing papers and maps from the wall. He put a couple of other books in the bag as well.

I was starting to shake from the cold. Even though I had a heavy coat, and was wearing a cap and gloves, standing still was starting to take a toll on me.

"Dad, we might want to take a break," Sam said.

Mr. Winchester stood up from where he had squatted down reading through an old book. "Hmm?" he looked over as saw me. "Oh...all right. I guess we can stop for now."

Dean walked over to me. "You holding up okay?" he asked.

I nodded.

He reached into a pocket and pulled out two packets, bending them and handing them to me. "Here, it's handwarmers," he told me, "put them in your pockets and it'll get your hands a little warmer until we can get to the car."

"Thanks," I said gratefully. I handed the flashlight to him and he followed his Dad over to where the bag was on the floor. Mr. Winchester shouldered the bag. "Let's go."

We had been walking for several minutes when he stopped. "Listen," he said.

I looked around, holding my breath. There was nothing, but I felt the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

"What is it?" Dean asked in a whisper.

"All the birds have stopped," Mr. Winchester said quietly, "There's something here with us."

"What do you think, a Wendigo?" Sam looked around.

"Could it be them?" Dean's voice was barely a breath, "I thougt they could only come out at night."

"No, they can come out during the day, they just move slower. Don't think they'd be up here in the mountains, though, the cold would make them even slower. No, it's something else," Mr. Winchester pulled out a gun, "Stay close, boys."

I had started to shake again, not just from the cold. I turned my head back and forth, trying to see what could be there. The woods had the same kind of stillness to them that had been there right before the Wendigo had jumped me, right before the Black Dog had run at me. My breathing started to get shallow.

"What if- what if it gets us?" I hissed, "How are we going to get back to the car?"

Sam turned back to me. "It's all right," he said. He had gotten a gun out too.

I felt like I couldn't move- I was too frightened. I grabbed ahold of a tree trunk.

Dean came up behind me. "Zan! What are you doing, kid?"

"Don't—want-to move -" I breathed, "I-I'm scared," I said in a small voice.

"Dad!" Dean called quietly, "Hold up!"

Mr. Winchester had started to walk ahead, and came back to us. "What?" he snapped, looking at me, "Come on, we've got to keep moving. Zan, we don't have time for this! Move!"

A moment later Sam pried my hands off of the tree and then swung me onto his hip. I wrapped my arms around him and buried my face in his chest as he carried me.

He set me down when we got to the clearing where the vehicles were parked. No-one talked as we got in and followed Mr. Winchester down off of the mountain. As the car got warm, I felt myself relaxing and getting sleepy.

The phone ringing woke me up. Dean answered, and said, "Yeah Dad. You did? Okay...you want us to—yeah, will do. All right, see ya."

He looked over at Sam. "Dad got a notification on the police scanner that a couple went missing, he's going to go check it out. He wants us to drop Zan at the motel and then join him," he glanced back at me, "We'll stop and get you some food, okay?"

I leaned forward. "You're going to drop me off at the motel? But- I want to stay with you!"

Dean shook his head. "We're going to be trying to track these vamps, can't have you along for the ride."

"But—I can wait in the car! I won't—I won't be in the way, I promise!"

"No, it's not safe. Better that you wait for us at the motel."

Dean pulled into the parking lot of a Gas-n-Sip and went into the store. He was back in a few minutes with a plastic bag.

He and Sam came into the room with me, and he went over to his duffle and got something out. "Here, this is one of my extra phones," he said, pressing some buttons. "I've unlocked it for you, and look, number 1 is my phone, number 2 is Sam's phone, number 3 is Dad's phone, and number 4 is Dad's other phone. Go down the list if there's a problem. We'll be back soon."

"You got this," Sam said with a smile. I hugged him quickly, and then turned to Dean and gave him a hug too.

It wasn't like I wasn't used to being alone in a motel room. Dad left me alone all the time while he hunted. The difference was that with him, I dreaded him coming back, whereas with the Winchesters, I wanted them to come back. I realized that I felt safe with them.

I turned on the t.v., and sat down to watch cartoons. As the day wore on I got hungry, so I looked through the bag that Dean had brought in. He'd gotten some bags of chips and snacks, and some microwaveable containers of soup and pasta. I microwaved a container of ravioli and ate it while trying to watch a John Wayne movie. It wasn't the same without Dean here providing commentary.

I got out my coloring books and worked on them for a while, then I tried to solve the Rubik's cube. I managed to get three sides figured out. By then it was dark, and I was hungry again. I microwaved a container of soup and ate a bag of chips. I didn't want to go to bed by myself, so I stayed up, finding a channel that was showing old Disney cartoons.

I woke up when there was a bang on the motel door. Then it opened quickly, slamming back against the wall.

Sam came in first, with Mr. Winchester and Dean holding a man between them. The man had his hands tied behind his back and he was slumped over. He looked out of it, and his eyes were only half open. "Where—did'jou—get—dead-man's blood-" he slurred.

"Zan, go into the bathroom and close the door," Mr. Winchester said, "Don't come out until one of us opens the door."

The man raised his head suddenly and focused on me- I felt like I had seen him somewhere before. He tilted his head back and sniffed the air.

"I know- you, I recognize- your smell," he said, "You're the- sister of that _delicious_ little girl with the blonde ringlets, aren't you?"

I knew then, that he was one of the vampires who had killed my mother and sister.

He grinned meanly, "Ohhh, she was-"

"Zan, go! NOW!" Mr. Winchester barked.

At the same moment, rage surged up in me. I rushed towards the vampire, clenching my fists. _"You fucker! You killed my mom_ _an' my sister!"_ I shrieked.

"NO!" someone bellowed, and arms circled my waist from behind and lifted me off the ground. I pounded on them and kicked my feet.

"Zan, _stop!"_ Sam shouted, dragging me backwards.

"Your father was _such_ a stupid fool, thought he could take on a whole nest himself," the vamp chuckled, "I've _never_ seen a sloppier hunter, he didn't know what he was doing, and look, it got half his family killed."

Sam had dragged me into the bathroom, and he set me on the closed toilet seat.

Mr. Winchester appeared at the door. He looked livid. "You stay in here until I come get you, and that's an order," he said in a hard voice. He stepped away and Sam left me in the room, closing the door behind him.

I could hear them talking in low voices. I heard the vampire say, "You think that's going to scare me?"

Then I heard Dean say, "Tell us where!" in a loud voice.

I wrapped my arms around myself and shivered. I couldn't believe that one of the vampires that had killed my mother and sister was in the other room. What were they going to do with him?

It felt like I was in the bathroom for hours, but finally the door opened. Mr. Winchester looked at me, "We're going to take care of the nest," he told me, "We should be back in a few hours- do _not_ leave the room."

"Yes sir," I said meekly.

He stepped back and I came out the bathroom.

Sam was folding up a tarp and the door was open, cold air was flowing into the room. I shivered and wrapped my arms around myself again. There was a bloody knife atop a pile of bloody rags, and Sam picked them up and put them into a garbage bag.

The straight-backed desk chair had ropes tied around the back and the legs, and it looked like there was a shiny substance on them.

Sam had taken the tarp and the bag out to the car, and he came back in and picked something else up. It was a pillowcase from one of the motel pillows, and it looked like it had a ball in it. Then I noticed that the end of the case was red- like blood. I didn't want to think about what could be in it.

Mr. Winchester pointed at the bed. "You get your butt into bed," he said tersely, "When we get back, you and I are going to have a _talk_ about obeying orders."

Sam picked up the bloody machete, and walked outside.

Mr. Winchester left, closing the door hard, and I heard the key in the lock.

I climbed into bed and pulled the covers up, shivering from the cold and also from nerves. I was worried for them- were they going to try and fight a whole nest of vampires? What if something bad happened? I curled up in a ball under the covers. I couldn't believe I'd run at the vamp. I couldn't believe I'd disobeyed Mr. Winchester like that. What was going to happen when they came back to the room?


	15. It Hurts to Set You Free

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Some of the dialogue at the end of the chapter is based on dialogue from the Supernatural episode 'Salvation', season 1, episode 21.**

~ ~ spn ~ ~ spn ~ ~ spn ~ ~

I didn't think I'd be able to sleep, but I did. When I woke up, I was still alone. It made me nervous, even though I knew that sometimes hunters were gone for a day or two. I was worried about the Winchesters, and I tried not to cry.

I was sitting on the sofa trying to distract myself with the t.v. when I heard the key in the lock. The door opened and all three of them came in, Dean slinging a duffle onto the floor.

I ran over to them and threw my arms around Sam's waist. "I'm so glad you're back!" I exclaimed, feeling tears of relief come to my eyes. "Are you okay?"

Sam chuckled and patted my back as he hugged me.

"Course we're okay, we kicked ass, as usual," Dean said with a grin, and I went to hug him next. He squeezed me tightly and let me go. I went over to Mr. Winchester and hugged him too, and he gave me a loose hug and ruffled my hair as I stepped back.

Sam handed me a paper bag from McDonald's. "Brought you some lunch, figured you'd be tired of microwave food."

While I ate, Mr. Winchester and Sam cleaned the weapons they had used, and Dean showered.

Then Sam showered and Dean finished helping his Dad. Finally Mr. Winchester got into the shower.

"We need to get some sleep, so you're going to have to be quiet for a while, kiddo," Dean said to me, "Think you can do that?"

"Yeah," I agreed.

Sam and Dean took one bed and Mr. Winchester took the other, and they laid down to sleep. I realized they'd been awake for almost 24 hours, so they were all exhausted. I turned the t.v. off and sat on the sofa, coloring in the geometric shapes book that Dean had given me. Then I did most of the Tangrams, then I worked on the Rubik's cube. I messed up one of the sides I had finished and that made me frustrated, so I put it down.

I laid down on the sofa and started to get sleepy, but then I wanted to lay with Sam and Dean. I wondered if I would wake them up. I walked over to the bed, and then crawled slowly up between them. Neither Dean nor Sam moved at all, and I settled in with my back against Dean's back, and fell asleep.

I woke up later when I felt them moving. Sam was already sitting up on the edge of the bed, and Dean had rolled over. "Didn't think you'd get in bed with us," he said with a yawn.

"I-I don't like sleeping by myself," I said shyly, "Did I wake you up at all?"

"Nah," he sat up and stretched.

Mr. Winchester had already gotten up and was over by the little coffeemaker, drinking a cup of coffee. "Why don't you boys go out and bring us back some dinner," he told them.

I guessed that that meant it was time for our "talk", which meant ass-kicking time. My stomach got nervous butterflies in it, I knew I had to face up to what I had done. I was surprised that Mr. Winchester had waited this long, my father would have laid into me as soon as he'd come back to the room.

Sam and Dean put their shoes on and then shrugged into their coats.

"Uh, can I go with you?" I asked quickly, hoping to stall for more time.

"No, we need to talk," Mr. Winchester said. He walked over to the sofa and sat down, and Sam and Dean left the room.

"Come here," Mr. Winchester beckoned me, and I walked over and stood in front of him. This was it, I was in for it.

"Sit down," he gestured to the sofa cushion next to him.

I sat, looking at him carefully. He didn't seem angry like he had yesterday, but that didn't mean anything.

"I'm sorry," I blurted, "I know I deserve an ass-whippin', I didn't mean to-"

"No, Zan, listen," he held his hand up, "I made a mistake, I shouldn't have brought the vampire to the room. To be honest, I wasn't thinking, and I'd forgotten that you were there. We don't ever have- guests with us, and we've brought someone to the room to question them before, so I was just going by what we've done in the past. I'm sorry that he said those things to you, and your reaction was understandable."

I stared at him. My reaction was understandable? He was telling me he made a mistake? Was he trying to trick me?

"However, if you had obeyed me from the start and gone into the bathroom when I first told you to, that whole situation could have been avoided. I gave you an order and you didn't listen to me, twice."

I blushed and looked down at my lap, twisting my fingers together nervously.

"You know how dangerous the hunting life is and you know how quickly things can change to a life and death situation. What you did was very dangerous. You could have gotten yourself or one of us hurt or killed. You disobeyed an order I gave you. You cannot do that if you are going to stay with me. I need to know that you will listen to me and obey me and do _exactly_ what I tell you in the future."

Tears came to my eyes. He'd said, _"If_ you are going to stay with me".

"Yes sir, I will," I whispered, "Are you—are you gonna make me leave?"

"No, Zan, I'm not. I wouldn't just make you leave- you're with me and I'm going to take care of you, and find someone to take you in. But that means that you need to listen to me and do what you're told."

"Yessir," I said, trying not to start crying. It seemed like his talk was ending, which meant that the hitting was about to start.

"All right," he said, giving a slight nod.

I swallowed uneasily. "You-you gonna whoop me now?" I asked.

He looked at me for a long moment. "No, Zan, I'm not," he said gently, reaching for me.

I flinched back, thinking he was going to smack me, but instead he pulled me to him and hugged me. I was so surprised that I started to cry.

"It's all right," he said.

"Later?" I asked, looking up at him.

"Later what?" he frowned slightly.

"You gonna kick my ass later?"

"No, I'm not. I'm not going to punish you at all for this."

"But I-I didn't listen, I-"

"And we talked about it. And that's that," he said with finality.

I looked up at him again, and his face was relaxed, his body was relaxed, there were no fists in sight. I felt relief then, that he wasn't going to start hitting me, that I wasn't going to have to be on guard for the rest of the day wondering when it was going to happen, and I started to cry harder.

I felt him pull me onto his lap and he put his arms around me. I leaned my face into his flannel and sobbed. It felt like I cried for a long time, and I wondered if he was getting tired of holding me and dealing with my tears.

"Sorry I'm such a fuck-up," I sniffled, trying to make myself stop.

"You're not a fuck-up, you're a kid who doesn't know the ins and outs of hunting," he said, cupping his hand around the back of my head and stroking my hair. "However, I want you to stop with the cursing. I didn't allow my sons to use that kind of language when they were your age, and you shouldn't be either."

"M'sorry," I swiped my hand across my face.

"Just watch what you're saying from now on."

"Yes sir."

He patted the side of my thigh. "Go wash your face," he told me, and I got up and went to the bathroom. When I came out, Sam and Dean were back with pizza and beer. Dean had also gotten french fries, onion rings, and chicken wings.

Sam rolled his eyes as Dean unpacked the bag and set everything on the table.

"What? It's good stuff, Sammy, and we're celebrating a successful hunt," Dean said easily.

"We're going to have to be in the room with you and your onion rings later," Sam shook his head.

"It's not that bad, c'mon," Dean pulled a small wrapped package out and held it out to me. "They made home-made cookies at this place, I got you some chocolate chip."

I took the package from him. It was a stack of three large cookies in plastic wrap. "Thanks," I said happily.

"You gotta be good and eat all your dinner first though," he said, and I looked up at him, surprised. He grinned at me. "I'm just kidding!"

We ate while watching a movie about a robot who looked like a man, who had gone back in time to save someone. He talked funny, and Sam and Dean made fun of his accent. Dean tried to explain the time-line of the movie to me but I couldn't keep it straight.

I woke up feeling like I was being moved. I opened my eyes- I was in Sam's arms, and he was leaning down to lay me in bed.

"Are you going out again?" I murmured, "Don't leave."

"We're not leaving," Sam told me, pulling the covers up, "Go back to sleep," He ruffled my hair and I rolled over and went back to sleep.

~ ~ spn ~ ~ spn ~ ~

"Into this house we're born...Into this world we're thrown," I sang, "Like a dog without a bone, an actor out on loan, riders on the storm..."

Dean caught my eyes in the rear view mirror and smiled at me. I could hear him and Sam singing along too.

Sam turned his head and said, "Did you know that Jim Morrison didn't think he had a good singing voice at first? He just wanted to read his lyrics out loud, with the music playing in the background."

"He has a great voice!" I said.

"Yeah he does, one of the best!" Dean agreed.

His phone rang. "Yeah," he said, "Okay, next exit? The Kenwood diner? Okay, see you there."

He disconnected the call. "Are we hungry? We're going to get some grub and then stop for the night."

We had been driving all day, Mr. Winchester had woken us up in the morning with news that a friend of his had asked for help, and we were on the way to meet up. Sam and Dean had been in good moods, teasing each other and me, and Dean kept music playing the whole time we were on the road.

We pulled into the parking lot of the diner and I took Sam's hand as we walked across the parking lot. Mr. Winchester walked in ahead of us, and he asked the waitress for a booth.

"Oh, great, they have pie!" Dean said happily, "I'm gonna get a couple pieces tonight!" he looked across the table at me, "I bet I know what you're going to get, hanburger and french fries, just like always, huh?"

"Uh-" I leaned over to Sam and asked quietly, "Can you tell me if they have spaghetti on the menu?"

He turned the page and glanced over the paper. "Yeah, they do, is that what you want?" he looked down at me.

"Yeah," I said, feeling my face get red.

"I thought your favorite thing was hamburger and fries," Dean said.

"Uh, I, actually...no," I said, "I don't really like hamburgers, I just always order them because I know that every place sells them, and that way I don't have to-to read what's on the menu," my face got hotter and I looked down at the table, willing myself not to cry.

"You don't even _like_ hamburgers?" Sam asked, "and you've been getting them all this time-" he stopped and looked at Dean, and then back down at me. "Listen, we'll help you with reading, whatever you need, just ask, okay? You don't need to feel ashamed about it or embarrassed."

"I do," I said, " 'Cause I'm just dumb."

"No you're not, kid," Dean said, and I glanced at him in surprise, because he sounded stern.

"You're not dumb, you have a problem with learning how to read. There's a difference," Sam said, "And we'll get you some help with that."

Mr. Winchester cleared his throat. "I need to talk to you," he glanced down at the table, "I talked to a friend of mine, and after we help my friend, I'm going to take you to stay with him. He'll find a family for you to live with."

"Who, Dad?" Dean looked uncomfortable.

"Pastor Jim," Mr. Winchester said, looking at me, "he's an old friend of mine, and he's a good guy."

"You- you're going to take me to him and just—just leave me there?" I asked in disbelief. Tears filled my eyes and I bowed my head. "It—it's 'cause I'm bad, isn't it? 'Cause I didn't listen to you before?" I looked up at Mr. Winchester, "I said I was sorry, you—you shoulda whooped me for it! I'll do what you say from now on, I swear!"

"Zan-" he reached out to me and I backed away from him, turning away from all of them and putting my arms around myself. I lowered my head again and swallowed, trying to make myself stop crying, but I couldn't.

I felt a hand on my shoulder.

"Zan," Sam said, and he pulled on me gently, turning me. I let him turn me back towards him, and he put his arm around me and pulled me into his chest. I grabbed ahold of him, hugging him tightly.

I heard the waitress's voice, "Are you ready to order, or do you need a few more minutes?"

"Uh, give us a few," Mr. Winchester said. After a moment, he said, "Zan, can I explain something to you?"

I nodded, sniffling, keeping my face turned towards Sam's flannel.

"This has nothing to do with your behavior, this was always my plan, to get you to someone who could take you in and take care of you the right way."

"I can stay with you an' I'll be fine," I said hoarsely, "I know how to live with hunters, an' I'll do whatever you want me to."

"I know that's how you were raised, Zan, but it's not a good way to live. You deserve to live in a house with a family, and go to a school every day and get help for your reading."

"But I—I wanna stay with you," I said, and I started to cry harder. I felt safe with them, I felt comfortable with them, and I cared about them. I wasn't feeling like I was on edge all the time, waiting for something bad to happen.

"I know you do, but it's not a good idea," Mr. Winchester said, "You know that this life isn't safe or easy for adults, and it's even less so for a child. It's better if you're not living like this."

"We can stop by and visit you when we're in the area," Dean said.

I glanced at him. "You would?"

"Sure we will, every chance we get. Right, Sammy?"

Sam squeezed my shoulder. "Right, and we can write to you and call on the phone too."

"Like I said before, I'm not going to just take you there and drop you off. We'll go to Jim's place and stay for a while, so that you get comfortable. You'll like it, he lives on a small farm with chickens and goats, and he has a couple of dogs that herd the animals," Mr. Winchester smiled at me, "I've known him for a long time, and I trust him completely."

"Could- could I stay with him?" I asked hesitantly.

"I don't know, that would be up to him. Are you willing to meet him and stay there for a little while?"

"O—okay," I agreed.

Sam handed me a napkin and I let go of him and turned back to the table, wiping my eyes and blowing my nose.

The waitress stepped up to the table with her pad and pen at the ready. When it was my turn to order, I said, "Could I get the spaghetti?"

"Sure hon, that comes with a salad, what dressing you want?"

"Oh, uhh, Ranch please."

"Do you want meat sauce, or marinara with meatballs?"

"Uh—meatballs with mar—mari-"

"The marinara? Sure thing," she took my menu from me. Then she laid down a paper place mat in front of me and a couple of crayons.

"Thank you," I said, and she nodded.

The place mat had tic-tac-toe boards on it and a word search.

"Want to play tic-tac-toe?" Sam asked me, and I nodded. We played while Dean and Mr. Winchester talked about a time when they had to go to an old building that had been a school and "clean out" all the ghosts. They had had to dig up several bodies to salt and burn each of them because the place had had lots of ghosts. Dean joked about how all the digging had given him big arm muscles.

"My Dad never did anything with ghosts," I told them, "He didn't believe in them."

"How can you be a hunter and not believe in ghosts?" Dean asked, "I mean, all the weird shit that we come across, how can you not believe in something?"

I shrugged. "He just didn't. If he ever heard about a haunting, he would stay away from it."

"Gee, nice that he could pick and choose which hunts he wanted to do," Dean said with a scoff, "maybe he was really scared of ghosts and he just said he didn't believe as a cover for that."

"When I was little, the house we lived in had a ghost, it was a old lady who sat in the kitchen," I said, "Mom an' I saw her, but Dad never believed us cause he didn't. The lady never did anything bad, she just sat there with a teacup."

"Some people are more sensitive to certain aspects of the supernatural than others," Mr. Winchester said.

The waitress came up to the table with a huge tray, and began to place our plates of food on the table. Everyone got quiet as we started to eat. My spaghetti came with three large meatballs, a salad, and two pieces of thick garlic toast. I wasn't sure I was going to be able to eat it all. I ate some of the spaghetti, and then a piece of the bread, and then some salad. I speared a meatball with my fork and started to take bites out of it, and then it fell off of the fork onto the floor.

"Aw, dammit," I muttered.

"Language," Mr. Winchester tapped the back of my hand with his finger and frowned at me.

"S-sorry," I said, leaning down to pick the meatball up and wipe the sauce off the floor. Sam handed me another napkin when I sat up.

"Cut the meatball up into pieces and that way it won't fall off the fork," Mr. Winchester told me.

I ate more salad and more spaghetti, and then I felt full. "I can't eat any more," I said, feeling guilty.

"Do you want to take it back to the room?" Mr. Winchester asked.

"Yeah, take it, and I'll eat it if she doesn't," Dean said, "Let's see if they'll sell us some pie to go too!"

Sam looked at me. "You have some sauce-" he motioned to my face. I licked my lips, and he shook his head. "No-" he picked up a napkin and wiped my chin. "There was no way you were going to be able to lick that off," he grinned at me.

"Thanks," I said.

When the waitress came back Dean convinced her to sneak him some slices of pie in a to-go box, and he gave her a kiss on the cheek as we left the diner.

"Real slick, Dean, flirt with the waitress to get us dessert," Sam said.

"Who says I'm gonna share any with you?" Dean asked, smirking at him.

We followed Mr. Winchester to a tiny motel on the outskirts of the town, and he got a room. I followed Sam and Dean into the room and we put our duffles down next to the beds.

"It's late, you should get ready for bed, Zan," Mr. Winchester said to me.

"Yes sir," I said.

Sam's phone rang. "Hello?" he said, "Who is this...Meg?"

Both Dean and Mr. Winchester turned, and quickly walked over to Sam.

Sam glanced at them, "My Dad, I don't...I don't know where my Dad is," he listened for a moment, then grimaced and handed the phone to his Dad.

"This is John, I'm here," Mr. Winchester said into the phone, "I don't—know what you're talking about. No, I don't," he turned and paced the room, "No, you listen to me-" his voice got deeper, "He's got nothing to do with anything, let him go! No, don't-" he stopped talking and listened.

"Fine, I'll meet you." he sighed, listening again, and then disconnected the call. He looked at Sam and Dean.

"She's got Caleb, and she says she'll kill him unless I hand over the Colt. I've got to go meet her- and try to rescue Caleb."


	16. Danger on the Edge of Town

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: I wanted to thank those of you who have followed and favorited this fic, and especially those of you who have taken the time to leave me reviews. I was unsure of how this story would be received, since it's different than anything I've ever written before. I was nervous about publishing it because it's a deeply personal story for me, dealing with difficult aspects of my past, so all of the positivity has meant a lot to me. Thank You.**

 **Parts of this chapter are based on the Supernatural episodes 'Shadow', season 1 episode 16, 'Salvation', season 1 episode 21, and 'Devil's Trap', season 1, episode 22.**

 **CONTENT WARNING: Violence, gore, and swearing. Character deaths.**

~ ~ spn ~ ~ spn ~ ~ spn ~ ~

I looked at them. "Who is Meg?" I asked, "Who is Caleb?"

"Caleb is an old family friend, and Meg is—an enemy of ours," Dean said tersely, "What do you want to do, Dad?"

"Well, I'll go to her, and see if I can trick her somehow."

"Dad, we'll go with you," Sam said urgently, "Let us help you. We agreed that the three of us are stronger as a family."

"I know I said that, but-"

"You said we were going to use the gun together," Sam insisted, "We're going to go after the demon _together-"_

"Well, I can't make the same moves if I'm worried about keeping you alive," Mr. Winchester said.

"You don't have to worry about us, we're not children—"

Mr. Winchester interrupted, "Yes you are, you're my children and I'm trying to keep you safe."

"Dad, you've got to let us come with you," Dean said, "We can help you figure out how to save Caleb, and get rid of Meg. You know Sammy's got the exorcism spell memorized, all we need to do is get her immobilized, and she's outta there."

Mr. Winchester sighed. "All right, let's get back on the road. When we get closer, I want you to see if you can find a replacement for the Colt at a pawn shop, and we can hand that over to Meg."

"Will do," Dean said, leaning over and picking up his duffle.

"Come on, Zan, let's go," Mr. Winchester said.

Dean got a pillow and blanket out of the trunk and handed them back to me after I got into the car.

We drove in tense silence for a while, and then I leaned forward and said, "Uh, you said something about a demon—and exorcism-"

Dean glanced back, "Yeah, the thing that killed our mother is a demon, and we've been trying to track that son of a bitch down and gank it. Meg's a demon too, and we need to just send her back to Hell."

"You- you've done exorcisms before?" I asked timidly.

"Yeah, we have," Sam told me, "We've dealt with pretty much everything that's out there."

"How do you do one?" I asked.

"You don't need to worry about that, kid. We'll get a room and stow you there before we deal with Meg," Dean said.

"But I can help-"

"Uh-uh, nope," Dean shook his head, "You're keeping safe in a room."

"But-"

"Zan, get some sleep, okay?" Sam said gently.

"Yes sir," I said. Dean seemed agitated, so I didn't want to push things any more. I curled up on the seat and pulled the blanket over myself.

I woke up briefly when Dean was ordering coffee at a drive-through. When I woke up again later, the sun was just coming up. Sam was behind the wheel, and Dean was slumped against the passenger window, asleep.

"Hey," Sam said to me, "We're almost there. We're going to meet up with Dad in a couple of hours."

"Okay," I mumbled, rubbing sleep out of my eyes.

Sam passed a plastic bag back to me. There was a bottle of orange juice, a bag of muffins, and a package of granola bars.

"Thanks," I said. I drank the juice and ate a muffin while I looked out the window.

We stopped to fuel the cars up and use the restrooms.

"I'm going to go on ahead and do recon," Mr. Winchester said, "I want you to find an old gun that we can give to Meg. There's a city about 10 minutes away, there should be pawn shops there. When you get to the building, don't park near me. Zan, I wanted to leave you at a motel, but there's no time. I want you to wait in the car, you don't need to be involved in this. That's an order," he looked at me, "Do you understand?"

I nodded. "Yes sir," I agreed.

He gave me a quick hug and went to get into his truck. Dean and Sam were tense as we drove into the city. I was nervous too, I had rarely been to cities, and all the noise and traffic was daunting. I went with them into the pawn shops, and in the third one, Dean found a gun that was suitable.

"Not a moment too soon," he said, "The meeting time is coming up."

He drove to the outskirts of the city, to where there were lots of dark, boarded up buildings and factories. Finally he pulled into a parking lot, and over to the side of a large building.

"All right," Dean turned to me, "You stay put. This car is warded, so you're safe here, okay?"

"Warded?"

"Yeah, it's got symbols painted on it that make it safe in here, from demons and the like," Sam explained, "We'll be back," he offered me a quick smile.

I took a deep breath and tried not to start crying as they got out.

"Dean!" I called, as he was shutting the door.

He stopped, and leaned in. "Yeah?"

"Be—be careful," I said.

"We will. Lock up," he tapped the top of the car after he shut the door, and I made sure that all of the doors were locked. I watched them walk into the building.

I tried to stay calm. I tried not to think of all the things that could go wrong. My father had never dealt with demons, so I had no idea what they were up against. What if this Meg person killed them? Could she send them to Hell? Could she bring other demons there to hurt them?

I didn't want anything to happen to them. I was worried about them getting hurt, and I started to imagine all kinds of scenarios. Mr. Winchester laying on the ground bleeding. All three of them with twisted, broken limbs. All three of them with stab wounds, bloody and torn. I couldn't help it, I started to cry.

I got out of the car, and hurried into the building. It was an old abandoned factory. There were huge metal machines lining the walls, full of rust and cobwebs. I heard skittering noises and squeaking, and shied away from the movement out of the corner of my eye.

I turned a corner, and saw them, standing together, looking down at something that Dean was holding. I ran up to them, feeling tears of relief on my cheeks.

They looked up when they heard my footsteps, and all three of them got angry looks on their faces.

"Dammit, Zan, this is no place for you!" Mr. Winchester said sternly.

"I—I wanted to help-" I said hesitantly.

"I told you to stay put!" Dean snapped, "The car is the safest place for you right now!"

Mr. Winchester grabbed my arm, pulling me close to him, "I told you to stay out of this too," he growled, landing a stinging swat on my butt, "You've earned yourself more of that later."

Tears filled my eyes. "I'm sorry-"

"We don't have time for this now," Mr. Winchester let me go and looked around, "You need to find a place to hide until this is over-"

"Well well well, the gang's all here," a woman's voice said loudly, "and what's this—do we have a little sister now?"

All of us turned towards the voice. A woman with short blonde hair stood across the room, her arms crossed over her chest. Sam and Dean pulled guns out and trained them on her.

Dean grabbed me and pushed me behind him. "Don't—say-a—word," he breathed to me.

Mr. Winchester began to walk towards her. "Where's Caleb?" he asked loudly.

Dean and Sam followed, and I stayed close behind them.

"Ah-ah-ah, I want the Colt first," the woman-Meg- said.

"Hell no, bitch, we want proof that Caleb's alive and unharmed," Dean said in a hard voice. I cowered behind Sam.

"Oh my, you kiss your mother with that mouth? That's right, I forgot- she's dead!" Meg laughed musically.

Dean made a little growling sound in the back of his throat.

"So who is this little girl you have with you? She looks too young to be a hunter, or one of your girlfriends. Unless one of you has taken a- _liking-_ to _young girls-"_ she smirked as Dean growled again louder and surged towards her.

Sam grabbed his arm. "Don't, Dean, she's trying to get a rise out of you."

 _"Fuck you,_ bitch!" Dean snarled, "I'm gonna _end_ you-"

"No you're not!" she snapped, serious now, "I'm going to end _you._ All of you _miserable_ _Winchesters._ I'm sick of you!"

"Yeah, well, the feeling's mutual," Dean retorted.

Mr. Winchester pulled out a gun and pointed it at Meg. "Caleb. NOW," he said in a hard voice.

She laughed again, shaking her head. "Oh John, for a hunter, you really are _so_ naive-"

She raised her hand and waved it, and shadows began to form on the walls. They began to look like humans, and then they somehow came off of the wall and over to us.

Suddenly we were engulfed in cold darkness, and I couldn't see anything. I gasped and reached out, grabbing what I thought was Dean's jacket.

When the darkness cleared, we were in a different part of the building. There was a shirtless man sitting in a chair—no, he was tied to the chair. He was thin and balding, and he had dozens of open, bleeding cuts all over his chest and arms.

"Caleb-" Mr. Winchester said, his voice full of emotion.

"John, don't give her anything," Caleb said hoarsely.

Meg waved her hand, and a shadow loomed forward and struck out at Mr. Winchester, knocking him down. Long cuts appeared on his right cheek. The gun fell out of his hand and skittered across the floor, and Meg motioned to it and it flew up in the air, into her hand.

Sam and Dean tried to run towards her, and she waved her hand again. I felt myself moving backwards, and I saw Sam and Dean moving too. We were all slammed against large, thick cement pillars that were in the room. I couldn't move, it was like I was being held by an invisible force. I began to rise up, until my feet were dangling, and I felt like I was choking slightly.

Meg held the gun up, inspecting it. "Hmm," she said in a conversational tone, "Looks like this is a fake," she looked up at John, "Thought you could fool me, eh, Johnny-boy? Well, you just signed your friend's death warrant."

She pulled a long knife out of her belt, walked over to the seated man, and drew the knife across his throat. A deep cut opened up and blood began to pour down his neck and chest as he gurgled.

 _"NOOOO!"_ Mr. Winchester's cry was anguished.

The man let out one last gasp, and then his head fell forward. The blood continued to pour out of him, and a huge puddle began to spread out below the chair.

"You bitch!" Dean struggled uselessly, but he was unable to move.

"Oh, Dean, we've already covered that, yes, I am a bitch," Meg held her hand up and clenched it into a fist, and Dean cried out. As we watched, blood began to leak out of his eyes, ears, and mouth.

"Stop it!" Mr. Winchester yelled, trying to sit up, "Leave him alone, it's me you want!"

"I'm not leaving him alone, I'm not leaving any of you alone until you're all cut to ribbons and dying in front of me," Meg looked at me, "That goes for you too, sweetheart. Sorry, kid, I guess being along for the ride with the Winchesters isn't such a good place to be after all."

 _"Fuck off!"_ I yelled, struggling against the pillar, "Stop hurting them!"

She looked surprised, and then laughed. "Oh, we've got a little firecracker here, huh? How about I wash that nasty mouth of yours out- with _blood,"_ she clenched her fist again and turned it, and I felt a twisting pain inside my body, and I cried out. I felt my mouth fill with blood, and I leaned forward and spit it out. The blood kept filling my mouth, and I kept having to spit.

"Zan!" Sam called, then turned his head towards Meg, "Leave her out of this, she's innocent!"

"Zan? Hmm..." Meg walked towards us, "Zan, as in Alexandra? Alexandra Fletcher, daughter of Josiah Fletcher?" she chuckled, "We never crossed paths, but I heard about him. What a waste of space that man was, a shitty hunter and an even shittier excuse for a human being. Got his wife and kid killed, did you hear?" she glanced down at her nails casually, "Oh that's right, you did, because you were there," she looked up at me and grinned meanly.

"Did the Winchesters rescue you? 'Poor widdle Zan', you didn't know that you were going to end up dying with these losers," she pouted for a moment, and then her face got hard. "Okay, I'm bored," she sighed, "Have at it, boys," she waved her hand again, and shadows came off the walls again, swooping down over us, and I felt something slash at my face, and felt blood leaking out of the cuts. I heard Sam and Dean and Mr. Winchester all crying out, and saw the shadows over them, and long cuts appearing on their faces and bodies.

"I'm-going-to kill-you-" Dean said hoarsely.

Meg glared at him, and snapped her fingers.

Dean cried out again, and more blood began to pour out of his mouth.

"Dean!" I yelled, gasping.

There was a loud shout. There was a swirling in the air, and then all of a sudden a figure was standing there, a man wearing a long gray coat, a dark hat, and a scarf wrapped around his face.

Meg frowned. "Who the fuck are you?"

"LeStrange," Mr. Winchester groaned, "Nice of you to join the party."

Solomon LeStrange was holding a long stick in his right hand. It had a big gem on the end that caught the light and sparkled. He raised it up, and said something in another language, and suddenly the room was filled with a bright light. It hurt my eyes, and I closed them and bowed my head.

After a long moment I raised my head and opened my eyes. The shadow creatures were gone, and the room was glowing with a strange light.

"You may have gotten rid of my pets, but I've still got enough juice in me to get rid of you all," Meg snarled, raising her hand.

Solomon LeStrange pulled something out of his collar and held it up- the amulet that had been in my bag. He said something else, in a guttural sing-songing voice, and then there was a swirling in the room, and a large, hulking creature appeared in the middle of the room. It looked like it was made out of moss and tree branches and leaves all woven and matted together.

Solomon LeStrange said something else in that same guttural voice, and the creature began to lumber towards Meg.

"You think your 'little friend' made of twigs is gonna stop me?" Meg sneered.

"Yes, I do," he said simply.

Meg raised her hand, and Solomon LeStrange raised his hand too. His gloves were off, and he made a funny motion in the air like he was writing a symbol. I noticed that he had six fingers on his hand.

Meg cried out, leaning forward and grabbing her stomach. "Magic?" she exclaimed, "Hell no, this is ridiculous! I will not be-"

The creature rushed towards her, grabbing her and lifting her up. It shook her the way a dog shakes a rat, and I heard what sounded like limbs snapping.

Meg screamed.

"Fuck you," she rasped, "I can still win," and she threw her head back and opened her mouth. Black smoke poured out of her mouth, rising up into the air, and swirled around in a circle before going out one of the windows. The creature walked over to the windows and threw Meg's body out, and we heard the crashing of glass and then the sickening thump as her body hit the ground.

All of us fell to the ground, and my insides stopped hurting.

Solomon LeStrange said something, holding the amulet up, and the creature turned towards him and then there was swirling around it and it disappeared.

He came over to us, and leaned down over Mr. Winchester.

"Thanks, LeStrange," Mr. Winchester sat up.

"I owed you a debt, for finding and returning my amulet," Solomon LeStrange said, "My debt is almost paid."

"Almost?" Sam asked.

"I will heal you now," LeStrange said, placing his hands on Mr. Winchester's head. He murmured something and then the cuts were gone from Mr. Winchester.

Solomon LeStrange put his hands on Dean next. "I have healed what I can in him, but he has lost too much blood, and I cannot do anything about that. You need to get him to a hospital and have them give him a transfusion."

"All right," Mr. Winchester stood up, and leaned down to help Dean up. He put Dean's arm over his shoulders and his arm around Dean's waist.

LeStrange healed Sam, and then he walked over to me. I looked up into his silver eyes and felt a calm come over me.

"I did not expect to find you here," he said.

"The Winchesters took me in after my Dad, uh-"

"Yes, I heard about that, my condolences," he placed his hands on my head and muttered words in another language. His hands were warm, and I felt the open cuts on my face get warm, almost unbearably hot for a moment, and then they were gone. I felt a warmth in my torso as well. He removed his hands and held them out to help me stand up. I could feel the extra finger on his hand as he pulled me up.

We walked over to the Winchesters. Mr. Winchester reached out and shook Solomon LeStrange's hand. "Thank you for your help, sir."

"I always repay my debts," LeStrange bowed deeply, and then he waved his stick in the air, and there was a flash of bright light, and he was gone.

"God damn, saved by magic," Dean rasped, "I never thought I'd see the day."

Mr. Winchester looked at me. "You okay?"

I nodded, "Yeah."

He smiled at me and cupped my cheek with his hand, and then pulled me to him for a one-armed hug. I hugged him back.

"What was that—creature?" I asked.

"A Tulpa. It's a thoughtform, created by binding together a person's thoughts and energies," Mr. Winchester explained, "LeStrange was controlling it with the amulet."

Sam took Dean's other arm, supporting him, and he and Mr. Winchester began to walk with Dean in between them. We were on the second floor of the building, and it took a while to find the stairs and get outside.

"I'll take Dean to the hospital, you get us a motel room and get cleaned up," Mr. Winchester told Sam.

"Hell no, Dad, we're coming with you," Sam said.

We got to Mr. Winchester's truck. "Shit," he swore, and kicked at the front tire. All four of the tires were slashed and flat.

Sam led us to where the Impala was parked. By the time we got there, Mr. Winchester was weaving and looked woozy.

"All right, I'm driving," Sam said. He put Dean in the back seat with me, and his Dad in the front passenger seat.

I took Dean's hand and looked at him. His face was pale and there were dark circles under his eyes. He gave me a lopsided grin. "Everything's gonna be okay, kiddo," he said hoarsely.

I leaned into his side, even though the front of his shirt and jacket were stiff with dried blood, and he put his arm around me. Sam started the car and pulled out of the parking lot.

"I saw a hospital on the way here," Sam said, "We've still got the Colt, right, Dad?" he glanced over at Mr. Winchester, "We can start over, right, and find the demon-"

All of a sudden there were headlights and a loud horn blaring and squealing of brakes, and then a loud sound as a truck plowed into the car. The sound of metal screeching blended with my screams.


	17. Not To Touch The Earth (ENDING 1)

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Some of this chapter and dialogue is based on the Supernatural episode 'In My Time of Dying', season 2 episode 1.**

 **CONTENT WARNING: Character death- read with a tissue handy.**

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I could hear the sound of a helicopter, and I felt myself moving.

A voice said, "Significant passenger side intrusion. Unresponsive. BP is 180 over 60, heart rate 95."

I opened my eyes. I was strapped onto a stretcher, being wheeled over to a waiting ambulance. There was a helicopter off to the side, and I could see Dean and Mr. Winchester, both strapped to stretchers, being loaded into it. Both of them had plastic collars around their necks and masks on their faces, and their eyes were closed.

"Tell me if they're okay!" I heard a voice yell, "Are they even alive?" It was Sam. He was on a stretcher next to me, and he saw me and called out, "Zan!"

The paramedics loaded Sam into the ambulance first, and then me.

"What's your name, son?" a dark haired paramedic bent over Sam.

"Sam," he said, trying to sit up, "Please, my brother—my father—can you tell me if they're okay?"

"Lay back, I've got to check you over. We'll meet them at the hospital," the man said soothingly.

I tried to move, but everything seemed like it was pain, every part of my body felt white-hot with it.

"Zan," Sam said again, and I tried to turn my head. I could only turn it towards him a little bit.

"There you are," he said with relief, "It's going to be okay, we're all going to get fixed up at the hospital, okay?"

I felt weak, and got all hot, and then all cold. I tried to say something to him but I couldn't move my mouth.

Sam reached out to me and I saw him take my hand, but I couldn't feel it. "Hey," he said, "Talk to me, huh?"

I tried to smile at him, and open my mouth.

There was another paramedic next to me, and he was working on me, hooking up wires and tubes. "What's your name, sweetheart?" he asked me.

"Her name is Zan," Sam told him, "and she's a fighter."

"Well that's great," the man smiled at me. He lifted my arm and put a blood pressure cuff around it.

I was able to make my head turn towards Sam, and I took a deep breath, and said, "Love—you-Sam-" it felt like I was shouting with all my might, but my voice was barely a whisper.

I saw him get tears in his eyes, and he smiled at me. "I love you t-"

All of a sudden a machine began beeping loudly. I felt tired, and wanted to rest. My eyes began to close.

"She's crashing!" I heard someone say, "I've got no sinus rhythm! Grab the epi!"

"Zan? Zan, stay with me," Sam said urgently, "Listen to my voice, stay with me, okay? I need you here, you need to help me with Dean and Dad. Come on, Zan-"

I heard the siren start, and felt the ambulance speed up. Then it turned, hard, and I heard things inside the vehicle slide.

It seemed like I slid too, all of a sudden I was out of the ambulance, and standing on a curb. I was on the side of a city street, and I looked around.

The traffic had stopped and all the street noises were quiet. I thought I heard a distant voice crying out, "Zan? Zan! _No! Zan!"_

Someone was standing next to me- a tall thin man, wearing a dark suit and tie, with a long dark overcoat. His dark hair was slicked back from his high forehead, and he had a long thin nose and a pointy chin. He held a fancy black walking stick with a silver top in one hand.

"Who are you?" I asked.

"It is time, Alexandra," he said, and motioned across the street. I looked over across the street and saw Iz and my Mom, standing on the other curb.

The man offered me his arm. "I will help you cross, young lady," he said kindly.

Iz grinned as we walked across. I noticed that I didn't hurt any more, there was no pain anywhere in my body. There were no cars or traffic or noise at all.

"Zanny! You hewe!" Iz hopped in place and flapped her arms. Her blonde curls bounced and glinted in the sunlight.

"Here she is," the man said to my Mom.

"Thank you sir," my Mom said, and he let go of me and bowed deeply. Then he was gone.

"Fwee point one fow one five nine two-" Iz said.

"Six five three five eight nine seven nine-" I replied to her, and she laughed, and it was the best sound I had ever heard. I had missed it so much.

I stepped onto the curb and Iz jumped on me and hugged me tightly, just like she had always done. "Zanny!" she crowed.

"Hi Iz," I said happily, wiping my eyes.

She let me go, and I turned to my Mom.

"Hi Mommy," I said.

She smiled down at me. "I've missed you so much," she said, "My Alexandra," she put her arms around me and it was like coming home.

My Mom picked me up, placing me on one hip, and then picked Iz up and put her on the other. She used to carry us like this when Iz was really small.

She walked down the street to the entrance to the subway.

"Where are we going, Mommy?" I asked her, putting my arms around her shoulders.

She didn't answer, just walked down a few stairs. Then the staircase started to go up, and there was a bright light shining down from above. Iz laughed and wiggled her fingers in front of her face. As we ascended, the light got brighter and brighter. I felt more relaxed and safe and happy than I had in a long time. I was with my Mom and Iz again, I was home...

 _"This is the end, beautiful friend_

 _This is the end, my only friend, the end..._

 _It hurts to set you free_

 _But you'll never follow me_

 _This is The End" -The Doors_

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE: THIS IS ENDING #1, WHERE ZAN DIES. I AM WRITING AN ALTERNATE ENDING WHERE SHE LIVES.**


	18. AUTHOR'S NOTE

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hi all, thank you for sharing your thoughts and feelings about the ending of Zan's story with me. When I started writing it, I always had in the back of my mind that she would die at the end. (And yes, I bawled my eyes out when writing it and every time I worked on the last chapter) The story and the things that happen in it are dark, and to have her die seemed like it fit. After thinking about it, a lot, I've decided that I'm going to write an alternate ending where Zan lives, because I think that after all she's been through, she deserves to find some healing and happiness with good people who can help her. Keep an eye out, I will add on to this story rather than starting a whole new one. Thanks for going on this journey with me!


	19. Danger on the Edge of Town (ALTERNATE)

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is an alternate take on chapter 16, 'Danger on the Edge of Town'. I re-wrote some of it so that the ending would be different.**

~ ~ spn ~ ~ spn ~ ~ spn ~ ~

I looked at them. "Who is Meg?" I asked, "Who is Caleb?"

"Caleb is an old family friend, and Meg is—an enemy of ours," Dean said tersely, "What do you want to do, Dad?"

"Well, I'll go to her, and see if I can trick her somehow."

"Dad, we'll go with you," Sam said urgently, "Let us help you. We agreed that the three of us are stronger as a family."

"I know I said that, but-"

"You said we were going to use the gun together," Sam insisted, "We're going to go after the demon _together-"_

"Well, I can't make the same moves if I'm worried about keeping you alive," Mr. Winchester said.

"You don't have to worry about us, we're not children—"

Mr. Winchester interrupted, "Yes you are, you're my children and I'm trying to keep you safe."

"Dad, you've got to let us come with you," Dean said, "We can help you figure out how to save Caleb, and get rid of Meg. You know Sammy's got the exorcism spell memorized, all we need to do is get her immobilized, and she's outta there."

Mr. Winchester sighed. "All right, let's get back on the road. When we get closer, I want you to see if you can find a replacement for the Colt at a pawn shop, and we can hand that over to Meg."

"Will do," Dean said, leaning over and picking up his duffle.

"Come on, Zan, let's go," Mr. Winchester said.

Dean got a pillow and blanket out of the trunk and handed them back to me after I got into the car.

We drove in tense silence for a while, and then I leaned forward and said, "Uh, you said something about a demon—and exorcism-"

Dean glanced back, "Yeah, the thing that killed our mother is a demon, and we've been trying to track that son of a bitch down and gank it. Meg's a demon too, and we need to just send her back to Hell."

"You- you've done exorcisms before?" I asked timidly.

"Yeah, we have," Sam told me, "We've dealt with pretty much everything that's out there."

"How do you do one?" I asked.

"You don't need to worry about that, kid. We'll get a room and stow you there before we deal with Meg," Dean said.

"But I can help-"

"Uh-uh, nope," Dean shook his head, "You're keeping safe in a room."

"But-"

"Zan, get some sleep, okay?" Sam said gently.

"Yes sir," I said. Dean seemed agitated, so I didn't want to push things any more. I curled up on the seat and pulled the blanket over myself.

I woke up briefly when Dean was ordering coffee at a drive-through. When I woke up again later, the sun was just coming up. Sam was behind the wheel, and Dean was slumped against the passenger window, asleep.

"Hey," Sam said to me, "We're almost there. We're going to meet up with Dad in a couple of hours."

"Okay," I mumbled, rubbing sleep out of my eyes.

Sam passed a plastic bag back to me. There was a bottle of orange juice, a bag of muffins, and a package of granola bars.

"Thanks," I said. I drank the juice and ate a muffin while I looked out the window.

We stopped to fuel the cars up and use the restrooms.

"I'm going to go on ahead and do recon," Mr. Winchester said, "I want you to find an old gun that we can give to Meg. There's a city about 10 minutes away, there should be pawn shops there. When you get to the building, don't park near me. Zan, I wanted to leave you at a motel, but there's no time. I want you to wait in the car, you don't need to be involved in this. That's an order," he looked at me, "Do you understand?"

I nodded. "Yes sir," I agreed.

He gave me a quick hug and went to get into his truck. Dean and Sam were tense as we drove into the city. I was nervous too, I had rarely been to cities, and all the noise and traffic was daunting. I went with them into the pawn shops, and in the third one, Dean found a gun that was suitable.

"Not a moment too soon," he said, "The meeting time is coming up."

He drove to the outskirts of the city, to where there were lots of dark, boarded up buildings and factories. Finally he pulled into a parking lot, and over to the side of a large building.

"All right," Dean turned to me, "You stay put. This car is warded, so you're safe here, okay?"

"Warded?"

"Yeah, it's got symbols painted on it that make it safe in here, from demons and the like," Sam explained, "We'll be back," he offered me a quick smile.

I took a deep breath and tried not to start crying as they got out.

"Dean!" I called, as he was shutting the door.

He stopped, and leaned in. "Yeah?"

"Be—be careful," I said.

"We will. Lock up," he tapped the top of the car after he shut the door, and I made sure that all of the doors were locked. I watched them walk into the building.

I tried to stay calm. I tried not to think of all the things that could go wrong. My father had never dealt with demons, so I had no idea what they were up against. What if this Meg person killed them? Could she send them to Hell? Could she bring other demons there to hurt them?

I didn't want anything to happen to them. I was worried about them getting hurt, and I started to imagine all kinds of scenarios. Mr. Winchester laying on the ground bleeding. All three of them with twisted, broken limbs. All three of them with stab wounds, bloody and torn. I couldn't help it, I started to cry.

I got out of the car, and hurried into the building. It was an old abandoned factory. There were huge metal machines lining the walls, full of rust and cobwebs. I heard skittering noises and squeaking, and shied away from the movement out of the corner of my eye.

I turned a corner, and saw them, standing together, looking down at something that Dean was holding. I ran up to them, feeling tears of relief on my cheeks.

They looked up when they heard my footsteps, and all three of them got angry looks on their faces.

"Dammit, Zan, this is no place for you!" Mr. Winchester said sternly.

"I—I wanted to help-" I said hesitantly.

"I told you to stay put!" Dean snapped, "The car is the safest place for you right now!"

Mr. Winchester grabbed my arm, pulling me close to him, "I told you to stay out of this too," he growled, landing a stinging swat on my butt, "You've earned yourself more of that later."

Tears filled my eyes. "I'm sorry-"

"We don't have time for this now," Mr. Winchester let me go and looked around, "You need to find a place to hide until this is over-"

"Well well well, the gang's all here," a woman's voice said loudly, "and what's this—do we have a little sister now?"

All of us turned towards the voice. A woman with short blonde hair stood across the room, her arms crossed over her chest. Sam and Dean pulled guns out and trained them on her.

Dean grabbed me and pushed me behind him. "Don't—say-a—word," he breathed to me.

Mr. Winchester began to walk towards her. "Where's Caleb?" he asked loudly.

Dean and Sam followed, and I stayed close behind them.

"Ah-ah-ah, I want the Colt first," the woman-Meg- said.

"Hell no, bitch, we want proof that Caleb's alive and unharmed," Dean said in a hard voice. I cowered behind Sam.

"Oh my, you kiss your mother with that mouth? That's right, I forgot- she's dead!" Meg laughed musically.

Dean made a little growling sound in the back of his throat.

"So who is this little girl you have with you? She looks too young to be a hunter, or one of your girlfriends. Unless one of you has taken a- _liking-_ to _young girls-"_ she smirked as Dean growled again louder and surged towards her.

Sam grabbed his arm. "Don't, Dean, she's trying to get a rise out of you."

 _"Fuck you,_ bitch!" Dean snarled, "I'm gonna _end_ you-"

"No you're not!" she snapped, serious now, "I'm going to end _you._ All of you _miserable_ _Winchesters._ I'm sick of you!"

"Yeah, well, the feeling's mutual," Dean retorted.

Mr. Winchester pulled out a gun and pointed it at Meg. "Caleb. NOW," he said in a hard voice.

She laughed again, shaking her head. "Oh John, for a hunter, you really are _so_ naive-"

She raised her hand and waved it, and shadows began to form on the walls. They began to look like humans, and then they somehow came off of the wall and over to us.

Suddenly we were engulfed in cold darkness, and I couldn't see anything. I gasped and reached out, grabbing what I thought was Dean's jacket.

When the darkness cleared, we were in a different part of the building. There was a shirtless man sitting in a chair—no, he was tied to the chair. He was thin and balding, and he had dozens of open, bleeding cuts all over his chest and arms.

"Caleb-" Mr. Winchester said, his voice full of emotion.

"John, don't give her anything," Caleb said hoarsely.

Meg waved her hand, and a shadow loomed forward and struck out at Mr. Winchester, knocking him down. Long cuts appeared on his right cheek. The gun fell out of his hand and skittered across the floor, and Meg motioned to it and it flew up in the air, into her hand.

Sam and Dean tried to run towards her, and she waved her hand again. I felt myself moving backwards, and I saw Sam and Dean moving too. We were all slammed against large, thick cement pillars that were in the room. I couldn't move, it was like I was being held by an invisible force. I began to rise up, until my feet were dangling, and I felt like I was choking slightly.

Meg held the gun up, inspecting it. "Hmm," she said in a conversational tone, "Looks like this is a fake," she looked up at John, "Thought you could fool me, eh, Johnny-boy? Well, you just signed your friend's death warrant."

She pulled a long knife out of her belt, walked over to the seated man, and drew the knife across his throat. A deep cut opened up and blood began to pour down his neck and chest as he gurgled.

 _"NOOOO!"_ Mr. Winchester's cry was anguished.

The man let out one last gasp, and then his head fell forward. The blood continued to pour out of him, and a huge puddle began to spread out below the chair.

"You bitch!" Dean struggled uselessly, but he was unable to move.

"Oh, Dean, we've already covered that, yes, I am a bitch," Meg held her hand up and clenched it into a fist, and Dean cried out. As we watched, blood began to leak out of his eyes, ears, and mouth.

"Stop it!" Mr. Winchester yelled, trying to sit up, "Leave him alone, it's me you want!"

"I'm not leaving him alone, I'm not leaving any of you alone until you're all cut to ribbons and dying in front of me," Meg looked at me, "That goes for you too, sweetheart. Sorry, kid, I guess being along for the ride with the Winchesters isn't such a good place to be after all."

 _"Fuck off!"_ I yelled, struggling against the pillar, "Stop hurting them!"

She looked surprised, and then laughed. "Oh, we've got a little firecracker here, huh? How about I wash that nasty mouth of yours out- with _blood,"_ she clenched her fist again and turned it, and I felt a twisting pain inside my body, and I cried out. I felt my mouth fill with blood, and I leaned forward and spit it out. The blood kept filling my mouth, and I kept having to spit.

"Zan!" Sam called, then turned his head towards Meg, "Leave her out of this, she's innocent!"

"Zan? Hmm..." Meg walked towards us, "Zan, as in Alexandra? Alexandra Fletcher, daughter of Josiah Fletcher?" she chuckled, "We never crossed paths, but I heard about him. What a waste of space that man was, a shitty hunter and an even shittier excuse for a human being. Got his wife and kid killed, did you hear?" she glanced down at her nails casually, "Oh that's right, you did, because you were there," she looked up at me and grinned meanly.

" _Shut up,_ you—you _bitch!_ Go to Hell!" I yelled, spitting blood towards her. I struggled against the cold cement that I was pinned against.

Meg's face got hard. "Go to Hell? Already been, there and back again. Now it's time for _you_ to shut the fuck up and let the adults talk," She narrowed her eyes at me, and snapped her fingers, and I felt my throat close up. I gasped, and tried to cry out, but no sound came out. I could barely get any air into my lungs.

She walked over to Mr. Winchester, laying on the ground, and put her foot on his chest.

"Now, where is the Colt?" she asked, and ground the thin heel of her high- heeled boot into him.

He groaned, and said, "I don't- I don't have it."

She threw her head back and laughed. "You are _such_ a liar, and a bad one at that!" She leaned down, "I can puncture one of your lungs with my heel, you want to have one working lung before you die?" She pressed her foot down harder. Mr. Winchester grunted in pain.

"Dad!" Dean called out, "Stop it, you fuc-"

"Oh, Dean, would you _shut it?"_ Meg rolled her eyes, and then waved her hands. Shadows grew on the walls, into the shapes of humans, and then came off the walls. One of them swooped down over Dean, and then long cuts appeared on his cheeks. He gasped and shifted.

"I'm going to keep going with your boys, until you give me what I want, Johnny-boy," Meg said, flicking her fingers. Another shadow swooped down over Sam, and then the same cuts appeared on his face. Sam tried not to cry out in pain.

At this point my lungs were hurting from how little air I was getting. My mouth was open, and the blood was dripping down out of it, and I was trying to breathe.

"Don't want to forget about the mouthy little bitch," Meg said, flicking her fingers again. A shadow came towards me, and I tried to cry out, but all I could do was make little gasping noises. There were black spots dancing in my vision.

Suddenly there was an extremely bright flash in the middle of the room, so bright that it hurt my eyes. I squinted against it, and all the shadows disappeared. When I opened my eyes, a figure was standing there, a man wearing a long gray coat, a dark hat, and a scarf wrapped around his face. He held a long stick up, with a large sparkling gemstone on the end, and there was a strange light coming from the stone.

Meg frowned. "Who the fuck are you?"

"LeStrange," Mr. Winchester groaned, "Nice of you to join the party."

"You may have gotten rid of my pets, but I've still got enough juice in me to get rid of you all," Meg snarled, raising her hand.

Solomon LeStrange pulled something out of his collar and held it up- the amulet that had been in my bag. He said something else, in a guttural sing-songing voice, and then there was a swirling in the room, and a large, hulking creature appeared in the middle of the room. It looked like it was made out of moss and tree branches and leaves all woven and matted together. It begant to lumber towards Meg.

The dancing black spots started to cloud over my vision, and my lungs and throat were aching for air. I tried to gasp but nothing came out. And then everything went completely dark, and I felt my head falling forward.

I came to as I fell to the ground, hearing a scream and the sound of glass breaking. All of a sudden, my throat was released and I could breathe. I rolled over onto my side, sucking in big gulps of air and coughing.

LeStrange said something in that guttural voice, and there was swirling in the room, and the creature disappeared.

"Thanks, LeStrange," Mr. Winchester sat up.

"I owed you a debt, for finding and returning my amulet," Solomon LeStrange said, "My debt is almost paid."

"Almost?" Sam asked.

"I will heal you now," LeStrange said, placing his hands on Mr. Winchester's head. He murmured something and then the cuts were gone from Mr. Winchester. LeStrange walked over to Dean and then Sam, and did the same thing with them. They stood up and walked over to their Dad.

LeStrange came over to me. I looked up into his silver eyes and felt a calm come over me.

"I did not expect to find you here," he said.

"The Winchesters took me in after my Dad, uh-"

"Yes, I heard about that, my condolences," he placed his hands on my head and muttered words in another language. His hands were warm, and I felt the open cuts on my face get warm, almost unbearably hot for a moment, and then they were gone. I felt a warmth in my throat and lungs as well. He removed his hands and held them out to help me stand up. I could feel the extra finger on his hand as he pulled me up.

We walked over to the Winchesters. Mr. Winchester reached out and shook Solomon LeStrange's hand. "Thank you for your help, sir."

"I always repay my debts," LeStrange bowed deeply, and then he waved his stick in the air, and there was a flash of bright light, and he was gone.

"God damn, saved by magic," Dean rasped, "I never thought I'd see the day."

Mr. Winchester looked at me. "You okay?"

I nodded, "Yeah."

He smiled at me and cupped my cheek with his hand, and then pulled me to him for a hug. I hugged him back.

"What was that—creature?" I asked.

"A Tulpa. It's a thoughtform, created by binding together a person's thoughts and energies," Mr. Winchester explained, "LeStrange was controlling it with the amulet," He looked at Sam and Dean, "You boys okay to walk?"

They both nodded. "Let's get the hell outta Dodge," Dean said, and he put his arm around my shoulders as we began to walk.

We left the building, and as we turned the corner, we were confronted with Meg's body, laying twisted on the ground amidst shards of glass and metal.

I gasped, and grabbed at Dean's jacket. "Don't worry, she's gone," he said.

Everything hit me just then, what we had just been through, and I began to cry. I felt Dean picking me up, and putting his arms around me tightly, and heard him murmuring in my ear as he carried me. I tried to make myself stop crying, but I couldn't, I just buried my face in Dean's shoulder and wept.

When I had finally calmed down, I lifted my head and looked up at Dean. We were sitting on the edge of the back seat of his car. The door was open and he was turned to the side, with his legs out of the car. He pulled a bandana out of his pocket and dried my cheeks.

I looked around. "Where's your Dad and Sam?" I asked.

"They went to get Caleb's body, he deserves a hunter's funeral," Dean said.

I shivered in the cold. Dean patted my side, "Get in and I'll start the car and turn on the heat," he said. I got off of Dean's lap and climbed into the back seat, and he closed the door and then got into the front. He started the ignition, and then turned the heat on.

His phone rang, and he answered it. "Hey," he said, listening, "Okay, will do. Yeah, I will." he ended the call, and then started to ease the car forward slowly. A truck came around the corner in front of us, and I recognized it as Mr. Winchester's. I could see someone sitting in the passenger seat.

"Sam's with Dad, they put Caleb's body in the back of the truck," Dean told me, "We're going to find a motel."

 _TO BE CONTINUED..._


	20. Strange Days Have Found Us

The motel room was huge, with 2 queen beds and a sofa bed that was off to the side, in a small living room-style area that was blocked off by a half-wall. There was a sink with a long counter in the room, and a mini-kitchen and another living room area facing a huge t.v.

Dean dropped his duffle. "I'm starving, I'm gonna go find someplace that's open and get some grub," he said, "Want me to bring back anything?"

It was close to 3 AM. I didn't feel hungry, just tired. Sam said no, and Mr. Winchester said bring him back some food.

After Dean left, Mr. Winchester said to me, "Zan, I want you to take a shower," He had gotten a bottle of whiskey out and was drinking some in one of the glasses that was in the room.

"M'okay," I said.

"The front of your shirt is covered in dried blood, and you've got dirt and dried blood in your hair. You need a shower."

"Yessir," I sighed, getting my pajamas out of my duffle. Even though I felt tired, I still felt awake, and tense. Usually after a hunt, my father was agitated, sometimes angry, and he'd drink, and then yell, and then hit me.

I had disobeyed Dean when he told me to stay in the car. Mr. Winchester had orderd me to stay there, and I hadn't, I had gone into the building after them, and gotten hurt. I could have died along with them if Solomon LeStrange hadn't happened along when he did.

By the time I got out of the shower, my stomach was twisted in knots and I was shaking with nerves. I was probably going to get it. And I deserved whatever Mr. Winchester did to me, because he'd told me to obey his orders, and I hadn't, more than once.

I opened the bathroom door, carrying my clothes over to the laundry duffle and stuffing them in. Sam went into the bathroom and then came back out, holding something. "Zan, here's the hair dryer for you," he said, crossing the room over to the sink. He plugged it in and laid it on the counter, turning to me and smiling. "I'm going to grab a shower next."

"After you dry your hair, I want you in bed," Mr. Winchester gestured to the sofa bed, which he had pulled out and set up.

I turned to him. "When?" I asked.

"When what?" Sam frowned with confusion.

"When are you gonna—I mean, I know I fu- messed up again, you gave me a order and I didn't listen, and I got in the middle of everything, so when are you gonna kick my ass for it?" My breathing was coming faster, and my stomach twisted even tighter.

"We'll talk about it tomorrow," Mr. Winchester said.

"Why not now? Why wait?"

"Because we're all exhausted, and we need rest. Now is not the time."

"You'll change your mind after you've had more of that," I nodded at the bottle of whiskey on the counter.

" _Excuse me?"_ Mr. Winchester frowned at me.

"Zan, no one's going to kick your ass," Sam said.

I turned to him, clenching my fists. "Why are you being so nice to me?" my voice was almost a yell.

"Zan-" Sam said again, coming towards me.

"Don't _touch_ me!" I yelled, backing away, "Look, just _do_ it! I know you're gonna yell at me and whoop my ass, just get it over with now!"

Mr. Winchester stepped towards me. "I told you that no-one was going to do the things that your father did, remember?" his voice was pitched low and gentle, "We're not going to treat you the way he did."

"Why not?" I sassed, "Sometimes he was right, I fucked up, or I screwed up the hunt, or I didn't listen. I _deserved_ it when he whooped me!"

"There may have been time when you deserved to be punished, but not what he did to you." Mr. Winchester's voice was reasonable.

"I deserved the ass-kickings he gave me!" I flared angrily.

"When the boys were your age and they disobeyed an order, I would spank them. I wouldn't hit them with my fists until they had so many bruises that they needed to wear long sleeves in the middle of the summer."

I flushed, remembering being in a Gas-n-Sip during the heat of summer, trying to keep my head down so that my long hair covered my face and my black eye, sweating in my sweatshirt and jeans that covered over all the bruises, and people staring at me as I walked by. My lip had been swollen and a couple different shades of purple by that point.

"Shut up!" I screamed, running at Mr. Winchester and trying to pummel him with my fists. He grabbed at me, catching my wrists in his hands and holding on to them.

"Zan, stop," he said.

"Just do it," I said, and my eyes filled with tears, "I know you're gonna, just go ahead and do it now."

"I'm not going to beat you," Mr. Winchester said, looking me in the eyes, "Is that what would happen after your father hunted? He'd bring you back to a motel and then beat you? He shouldn't have done that, and I'm not going to do that either."

He pulled me towards him, and put his arms around me and hugged me. I was so surprised that I burst into tears, and then I fought against him for a moment.

"Shh," he said, "It's all right," He picked me up and carried me across the room. I heard the sofa bed squeak as he sat down on the edge, and he set me in his lap. I was used to being tense after a hunt, I was waiting for fists and yelling, and it wasn't happening. I didn't know what to do with that. I cried into his flannel, leaning my head on his chest, until I couldn't cry any more. Maybe nothing bad was going to happen. I began to calm down, suddenly feeling exhausted.

I opened my eyes and looked up. Sam had brought over a box of tissues, and I wiped my eyes and blew my nose. Then Sam handed me a bottle of water. "Drink some, you need it," he smiled at me again.

Tears filled my eyes again. "Why you bein' so nice?" I asked again. I drank half the bottle, and then yawned hugely.

"Get some rest," Mr. Winchester stood up and carried me over to the head of the bed, laying me down and pulling the covers up. "The water is on the floor next to the bed if you need it," he told me. I heard his footsteps walking away. I rolled over, and I slept.

I woke up hearing papers rustling. I opened my eyes- I was in one of the queen beds. I remembered waking up crying, and somebody—Sam or Dean- scooping me up and then putting me in bed in between the both of them.

The three of them were sitting at the table over near the mini-kitchen area. I got up and walked over, sitting down in the remaining chair.

"Good morning, or should I say afternoon," Sam said with a grin. It was late in the afternoon, we had slept most of the day away.

Dean lifted a paper bag and said, "We've got burgers and fries in here," he set it down and lifted a different bag, "And breakfast sandwiches in here if you're in the mood." He set the second bag down and grabbed the first one again, putting his hand in and bringing out a small box. "I know you don't like burgers, so I got you chicken nuggets instead," he set the box in front of me.

"Thanks," I said. I opened the box and started to eat one.

Mr. Winchester took a drink of his coffee, and then set the cup on the table. "Zan, we need to talk," he said.

I sighed, knowing this was coming. "Okay, which one of you first?" I glanced at all of them quickly and then looked at the table.

"Uh...what do you mean?" Dean asked.

"I screwed up your hunt yesterday, I disobeyed an order, and I put all three of you in danger. So you're all gonna kick my ass, right?" I glanced at them again- Sam and Dean looked shocked. "Zan, we're not-" Dean said weakly, and Sam shook his head, pressing his lips together.

"No, that's not going to happen," Mr. Winchester said, "Why did you leave the car yesterday?"

"I—I was scared about you guys getting hurt," I flushed and shifted in my chair.

"What were you going to do?"

"Uh, I dunno, help...somehow," I looked down at my hands, twisting together in my lap.

"How? How were you going to help?"

"I dunno," I said again, quieter.

"And did you? Help, I mean?"

"No," I whispered, feeling my blush deepen. I looked up at Mr. Winchester, feeling angry now, "Okay, I _get_ it, I _didn't_ help, 'cause I'm fucking _stupid,_ and I shouldn't have done what I did! You don't gotta shove it in my face!" Tears came to my eyes and my eyes burned.

"You're not stupid, you're impulsive. There's a difference. I wanted to see if you really knew what you did was wrong."

"Yeah, I do, so just whip my ass and get it over with!"

Mr. Winchester leaned forward and put his hand on mine. "Zan, I'm not going to hit you."

"Why not, that's what he did," I muttered, feeling the tears spill out of my eyes. I pulled my hand away and swiped it across my face.

"Because I'm not him," he said simply, "I understand that you were worried about us. You helped your father with his hunts, so you wanted to try and help us too. But I'm telling you that you _cannot_ do that again. When I give you an order, you do as I tell you. Is that clear?"

"Yessir," I muttered, staring down at my hands again.

"I want you to think before you act, don't just do something blindly. A good hunter considers all the angles of a situation before they make a move. Do you understand?"

I nodded, "Yessir."

"To make sure that you do understand how serious I am about following orders, I want you to write lines. Repetition will help it stay in your head. 'I will follow the rules and obey the orders I am given', 50 times."

"Uh- lines?" I asked hesitantly.

He nodded, "Yes, Sam will get you set up with it, and I want it done today."

Sam handed me a bottle of water, and I drank it and finished the nuggets and ate some french fries. He and Dean started to clean up the wrappers and empty bottles, and Mr. Winchester stood up. "I'm going to go check on the clothes," he said, and left the room.

Dean went over and sat down on the couch, turning on the t.v. Sam got some paper out of his lap top bag and brought it back over to the table. He sat down next to me and wrote something down, then slid the paper in front of me.

"You might as well get started," he said.

I sat at the table, looking at the paper. The lines seemed impossibly small and close together. I picked up the pencil and started to write. _'I will follow the rules and obey the orders I am given'._ Sam got up and walked over to sit next to Dean. They started to talk about the movie that Dean was watching.

The first few lines I did okay, but the further down the page I got, the harder it got. I had to keep looking at the sentence that Sam wrote, after every couple of letters. I tried to form the letters the right way, just like he wrote them, but it wouldn't work right. My hand began to ache, so I switched the pencil to my other hand and began to write again. I whispered to myself as I wrote, "...f, o...l l...o...w...t, h...e, r...u,l,e...s..."

Sam came over to me and sat down next to me. "I thought you were a righty," he said.

I looked at him confusedly.

"I thought you wrote with your other hand," he gestured.

"Oh. Uh, I can do both," I said, blushing.

"Can I see how you're doing?" he asked. He took the paper and picked it up, and I watched his eyes scanning it. I lowered my head, waiting for him to start yelling about all the mistakes and sloppiness.

"Well, that's, um—are you having- problems?"

I glanced up at him. "Uh, kinda," I whispered.

He put the paper down and slid a blank piece in front of me. "Can you write something for me?" he asked.

"Like what?" I looked at him.

"I don't know, um...write your name and what your favorite food is."

I lowered my head and concentrated, trying to remember how to form the letters right. After several minutes, I passed the paper to Sam. I had written, "mi nAm iS ALxndrA fLEchr nd mi fAfrit fod iS SbgEdi"

He looked at the paper for a few moments, getting a funny look on his face. "Your, uh, your favorite food is...spaghetti?"

I nodded, "I don't know how to spell it," I blushed again.

"Well, uh, good job trying," he said.

The door opened and Mr. Winchester came into the room carrying a bottle of detergent. Sam got up, picking up the papers, and walked quickly over to him. I watched as Sam talked to him, and Mr. Winchester looked at the papers for a moment. Then they walked over to me.

"All right, Zan, you don't have to do this," Mr. Winchester said.

I felt angry. "Why not?"

"Because you're... having problems with it, because of your...reading issues. I'm sorry, I forgot about that."

"I'm gonna do it," I said stubbornly, "Gimme the paper and I'll finish it. I know I'm a dumbshit, but I can do it."

"Hey," Mr. Winchester put the papers down on the table and then took my chin in his hand, raising my head and making me look at him, "You are _not_ dumb, and I don't want to hear you calling yourself that any more. And no more _cursing_ either. You hear me?" He let me chin go.

"Y-yessir," I mumbled, feeling embarrassed.

"You don't have to do this-"

"I'm _gonna_ do it," I grabbed the paper and pulled it over in front of me, "I don't care if I'm here all night."

I sat and wrote, working my way through the words, switching the pencil from one hand to the other when the hand that was writing got too tired. Mr. Winchester talked on the phone occasionally and worked on writing something in his journal. Finally he stood up and came over to me.

"We're going to get dinner," he told me, "Caleb's funeral is tonight, and some other hunters are coming in to the area. We're going to meet up for it, and it's going to be late at night. I want you to come with us, I don't feel comfortable having you here by yourself."

I put the pencil down and looked up at him. "Thanks," I said gratefully, "I can stay by myself, but I, uh, I don't...want to," I felt a little embarrassed admitting that, but I figured it wouldn't piss him off, because he'd said he wanted me to come with them.

He nodded. "Get your coat and gloves, it's going to be cold out there, and we're going to be deep in the woods."

"Yessir," I got up and went to put my shoes on.

 _TO BE CONTINUED..._


	21. Night Divides The Day

We were standing in the front of the restaurant waiting for a table, when a man walked over to us. It was Bobby Singer. He shook everyone's hands, and then turned to me.

"How ya doin', kid?" he asked.

I didn't know what to say, usually when other hunters were around, my dad had been talking to them, and everbody ignored me.

"Uh, I'm okay," I said quietly.

"Winchester keepin' you awake nights with his snoring?" Mr. Singer grinned, and Mr. Winchester gave his shoulder a light shove. Sam and Dean chuckled.

We were shown to a table towards the back of the restaurant. It looked like a log cabin, with wooden walls, and lots of deer heads and taxidermied animals decorating the walls. The light fixtures were made with deer antlers. There was a huge fish tank along one wall.

I sat next to Dean this time. The menu had some pictures, but not a lot. I couldn't find anything that looked like the word 'spaghetti'. I turned to Dean and put me hand on his arm.

"Uh, what, uh, what kinds of stuff do they have?" I asked quietly, feeling myself blush.

"Oh, this is a steakhouse so they've got a lot of steaks and burgers. Do you like steak?" He leaned over and pointed at the photos of different types of slabs of meat.

I shook my head. "We didn't have it that often and Dad usually got it for himself. Iz had trouble chewing it, so she never got it, and so I didn't either."

"Hmm, well, they've got shrimp, do you like seafood?" Dean pointed to another photo.

I shook my head again. "I never had it before. Do they have spaghetti?"

Dean looked through the menu. "They've got fettucine alfredo and linguine with clam sauce."

"What's that?" I asked.

"Fettucine alfredo is thick noodles with a white sauce made with cheese, and linguine is another type of thick noodle. I think the clam sauce is made with tomatoes." Sam looked at me, "They've also got Pasta Primavera, that's pasta with a lot of fresh vegetables."

"Do any of those sound good, kiddo?" Dean asked.

"Um, I guess I'll try the first one, the fetta-"

"Fettucine alfredo? You can get it plain or with chicken." Sam glanced at the menu.

"Just plain."

Dean ordered for me, and I sat quietly as the men talked and drank the beer that they had ordered. I was used to sitting quietly, that was what my dad expected. I looked around at all the decorations, trying to count how many animals there were. The ceiling had exposed beams, and some of the taxidermied animals were up there.

"So, you're taking her to Murphy?" My attention was brought back to the table with Mr. Singer's question.

Mr. Winchester shifted and looked at me. "Yeah, after I help a friend out, we'll be stopping by for a visit."

Sam looked uncomfortable, and I could tell he was watching me. I tried not to feel sad or scared about it.

"He's a good guy, he'll find something suitable," Mr. Singer said, "He oughtta know plenty of people, what with him havin' the church and all."

"That's what I'm counting on," Mr. Winchester took a long drink of his beer.

"He's got two dogs, Zan, and they're really nice. Do you like dogs?" Sam looked at me.

I shrugged. "Don't know much about them, we never had pets or nothin'."

"The dogs are really sweet, they love kids. They'll probably end up sleeping on the bed with you!" Sam smiled at me.

The waitress appeared with our food and began to pass plates out. The fettucine alfredo sauce was very rich, I had never had a meal like it before. I couldn't eat very much of it, and sat quietly after I felt full. I looked around the restaurant as I listened to the men talking.

I stood up and stepped away from the table, and felt a hand on my arm. I stopped and turned. Dean had his hand on my arm, and everyone had stopped talking and was looking at me.

"What are you doing?" Dean asked.

"Oh, I was gonna, uh, go look at the fish tank," I said, blushing. My dad had never paid attention, or cared, if I walked away.

"Not supposed to go wandering off by yourself," Mr. Winchester raised one eyebrow.

"Oh..." I remembered that that was one of the rules he had told me when I first went with them. "Sorry," I looked down at the table.

"I'll go with you," Dean said, getting up.

I turned to him when we were standing in front of the tank. "You don't gotta be with me, I'm used to doing stuff on my own."

"We're just keeping you safe," Dean said easily, "Hey, look at that big one, man, he's ugly!"

I watched the fish for a long time. Dean got bored and turned away from the tank, looking around the restaurant.

"You want to go sit down now?" he asked after a few minutes.

I glanced at him. "Um...I want to stay here," I said hesitantly. I liked watching the fish, something about the way they moved through the tank was calming to me.

"All right, another couple of minutes." Dean put his hands in his pockets. He nodded to someone that walked by us.

Dean pulled on my sleeve. "Let's go sit down now."

I glanced at him again. "You can go, I wanna stay."

Dean shook his head. "Uh-uh, Zan, c'mon, come sit down."

"I don't need a babysitter!" I said hotly.

He raised his eyebrows. "I'm not babysitting you. C'mon, Dad's calling us back to the table."

I turned to look- Mr. Winchester had stood up and was beckoning us to come over to him. I followed Dean over.

"Are you finished eating?" Mr. Winchester asked, "We're going to go."

"Yessir," I picked up my jacket from the back of the chair and put it on. We left the building, and Dean followed Mr. Winchester and Mr. Singer in their trucks.

It took a long time to get to the forest where the funeral was going to be. Sam and Dean opened their trunk and got some things out. Sam handed me a small flashlight.

"Stay close," he said to me. We walked through the woods, following Mr. Winchester and Mr. Singer, until we came to a clearing. The pyre was set up, and there were several men standing around.

I stood between Sam and Dean as a couple of men spoke about Caleb and what a good hunter he had been, and shared stories about hunts and experiences they had had with him. Then someone lit the pyre. I saw some of the men passing around flat silver flasks. Dean and Sam took drinks from them and passed them on.

The pyre had caught and had been burning for a while. Some of the men were talking in low voices. Dean stepped away to hand someone a bottle.

A man walked up. "Your father screwed up one of my hunts," he loomed over me.

"S-sorry," I said, putting my hands in my pockets. I felt nervous, and stepped closer to Sam.

"Hey, back off, she had nothing to do with it," Dean came over.

"And when I tried to talk to him about it after, he roundhoused me, fuckin' dick-"

"Stand down," Mr. Winchester was there suddenly, and he got in front of me. Dean stepped in front of me slightly too.

The man looked down and muttered something, then turned and walked away.

Mr. Winchester turned and looked at me. "Are you okay?"

I nodded.

"Watch her," Mr. Winchester turned to Sam and Dean, "and watch everything. The mood's a little off tonight, and I'm not sure why."

A few minutes later, there was a swirling breeze, and then a man in a long gray coat stood there. It was Solomon LeStrange. I heard the murmuring get louder for a moment.

Solomon LeStrange tossed something into the fire, and it made the flames jump higher and they became multi-colored for a moment. I gasped at how pretty it looked.

"What the hell," someone grumbled.

"What are _you_ doing here?" a loud voice rang out. I couldn't tell who had said it.

"I knew Caleb, he was a fine hunter, I have come to pay my respects," Solomon LeStrange took his hat off. His silver eyes glinted in the light of the pyre.

"What's next, you gonna saw the corpse in half? Do a coupla card tricks?" a voice jeered.

"As I said, gentlemen, I have come to pay my respects, that is all," LeStrange said evenly, looking around. A lot of the men wouldn't meet his eyes.

"Well your kind ain't welcome!" A man wearing a camouflage coat shoved his way over to stand in front of LeStrange. He got right up in the magician's face, thrusting his chest out.

"Everyone is allowed to be here," Mr. Winchester spoke up.

"No they ain't," the man insisted, taking a swig from a square bottle filled with brown liquid, "I don't associate with magicians or witches or any o' that filth. They all need to be wiped off the face o' the earth."

"You are hunters, you use weapons to do your job. I use the elements of nature, and energy, to do my job," LeStrange spoke in a reasonable tone.

The man glared at him. "Don't try and equate what you do with what I do! You ain't nothin' more than a cheap carny trick!" he leaned forward and spit on the ground. There were mutters of agreement in the background.

"Hunting isn't black and white, there are shades of gray. Not everything supernatural is necessarily bad," Mr. Winchester said, "Haven't you ever worked with a psychic before?"

"That's different, an' I don't associate with supes, any of 'em," the man said, "and _he_ ain't welcome here."

"I am sorry you feel that way," Solomon LeStrange said, "I will take my leave now." He lifted his cane, and then disppeared in a whirl of wind and leaves. A shower of multi-colored sparks fell from the pyre.

"Good riddance," the man grumbled, glaring at Mr. Winchester. "Didn't know you associated with that trash."

"He's helped out before, just like Missouri Mosely has helped me. I don't have prejudices against people just because of their abilities."

"It ain't abilities, it's all tricks. I'm surprised that you fell for it, Winchester. 'Specially after what happened to your wi-"

"Shut your mouth," Mr. Winchester's voice was an angry rumble. He stepped close to the man. "Don't talk about what you don't know."

Men were starting to grumble around the pyre. It felt very tense and angry. I started to feel nervous.

"Hey, I got a gallon o' moonshine from my cousin, who wants some?" A man's voice rang out, and someone else whooped loudly.

"Pass it around, boys!" There was raucous laughter.

Mr. Winchester stepped close to us. "I want you to take Zan back to the motel," he said quietly, "I think the atmosphere is not going to be suitable for a little girl, very shortly."

"All right," Sam said. He took my arm. "Come on, Zan."

I walked between him and Dean back through the woods. I felt too wired to sleep, even though it was late. The tension at the pyre had gotten to me, and I felt wound up and tense too.

Sam was surprised to find me still awake when we finally pulled into the parking space. "You were so quiet back there, I figured you fell asleep!"

When we went into the room, Dean went straight to the small fridge and pulled out 2 beer bottles. He handed one to Sam and went to sit down on the sofa, putting his booted feet up on the coffee table with a sigh. "Some of those guys are assholes," he said, picking up the remote, "I'm glad we got outta there when we did."

"Yeah, it was starting to feel ugly," Sam commented, "Zan, you should get ready for bed, it's pretty late."

"I'm not tired," I walked over and sat next to Dean, who was flipping through the channels.

"Can I watch a movie with you?" I asked him.

"Sure-" he started to say, but then I saw him looking across the room at Sam. He sat up and said, "Actually, no, you should get to bed, it _is_ late."

"I—I don't _want_ to go to bed!" I burst out. Being around all the angry men earlier had made me feel nervous like I did when my dad was in an angry mood, and I was just waiting for him to start in on me.

Dean raised his eyebrows. "Well, uh, Zan-"

"What's wrong?" Sam came over to the sofa, looking at me.

I turned to him. "N-nothing's wrong, I just don't wanna go to bed, I won't be able to sleep!"

"You should try-"

" _I don't wanna fucking try!"_ my voice was almost a yell, and suddenly I felt like crying. Dean drew back, looking shocked.

"You've never done this before," Sam said quietly.

" _SO?"_ I glared at Sam.

"Zan-" Dean started to say, and I felt a hand on my arm. I was still turned towards Sam, and feeling the touch startled me, and I moved quickly, jerking my arm away. My hand hit Dean's other arm, and it knocked into his bottle, making the beer spill all over his shirt.

"Dammit!" Dean swore, sitting forward and shaking the liquid off of his arm. He slammed the bottle down on the table and I flinched.

"Get to bed!" he snapped, glaring at me.

I stared at him, and then tears filled my eyes, and I ran over to the sofa bed. I got out my pajamas and changed into them, even though I could barely see through the tears pouring down my cheeks. I laid down in bed, shaking and crying, and trying to stifle the sounds in the back of my throat.

Dean had gotten up and changed his shirt, and then cleaned up the spilled beer. I heard him talking to Sam quietly for a couple of minutes.

"Zan," Sam said.

I opened my eyes. They were both standing by the bed.

"Uh, sorry, kiddo," Dean shifted uncomfortably, "I didn't mean to yell at you like that."

"S'okay," I said, trying to gulp back a sob, "I de-deserved it."

I sat up. Sam reached towards me and I flinched back with a gasp. I saw he was holding the tissue box.

"What's got you so on edge, huh?" he asked, his voice gentle, "We're not going to hit you."

More tears filled my eyes. "I—I yelled an' cussed an' was dis-disrespectful an' sp-spilled your beer, I know I got a ass-kickin' c-coming."

"No ass-kicking, Zan," Dean said.

Sam sat down on the edge of the bed. "No," he said simply, and put his arms around me. I leaned into him and started to cry harder.

After a couple of minutes I felt the bed give behind me, and a hand on my back. I turned to look at Dean.

"S-sorry, D-dean," I sniffled.

"Hey, no, I'm sorry," he said quietly, and he reached for me. I flinched as his hand came near me, and I saw his face change from apologetic to upset. He looked guilty. He pulled me in for a hug, and I rested my head on his chest for a moment.

"Try and get some sleep," Dean patted my shoulder and let me go. I wiped my face off one more time, and then laid down in bed. They stood up, and Sam leaned down to pull the covers up.

I listened to them talking as they watched a movie, and fell asleep eventually.

I woke up in the morning between Sam and Dean. I remembered having a nightmare about the Black Dog, and Sam coming over to comfort me. I couldn't stop crying, and I wouldn't let him go, so he carried me over to the other bed. Once we laid down, I quieted, and fell asleep curled up against his side.

Mr. Winchester was in the other bed, on top of the covers, fully clothed. I wondered if he had stayed to take care of the pyre once it had burned down to ash.

I got up and used the bathroom, then I went over to the table and sat down, picking up the papers that I had been working on. I told myself I was gonna finish the lines before we left today, and I started writing.


	22. AUTHOR'S NOTE 2

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Updates are going to be slow in coming for the next few weeks, because...I've broken my pinky and possibly my ring finger. Last night my husband and I were sitting in bed and our son came in to say good night. He gets in between us and my husband starts tickling him. My son starts flailing around, and I put my hand up to block him, and my fingers bent all the way backwards and I heard a "SNAP!" My husband heard it too! I got x-rays done and have an appointment with a hand doctor on Monday. My pinky is broken right where the joint connects to the hand. I'm hoping I don't need surgery...I'll write on update on my story "Becoming a Winchester" when I know more. Please send healing vibes to me! Love to you all! XXXOOO


	23. Wintertime Winds Blow Cold

I heard a sigh and then Mr. Winchester sat up. He looked around and rubbed his face, then got up out of bed and stretched.

He walked over and sat next to me at the table, glancing over at the papers. "You working on your lines?"

I glanced at him. "Almost done."

"Good," he nodded, and sat forward, "The boys told me you got upset last night."

I stopped writing, and then glanced at him again. He was looking at me, but he didn't look angry.

"I, uh, I didn't want to, uh, go to bed when they said, and I, uh, yelled 'n cussed 'n I spilled Dean's beer on accident—m'sorry, I just-" I felt myself blushing, and I stared at the table. I didn't know how to describe what I had been feeling inside, that feeling of waiting for something bad to happen, and wanting to get it over with.

I peered up at him, keeping my head low. "You gonna-"

He shook his head. "No, you're not in trouble, and I'm not going to punish you. I'm not going to do what your father did to you," He put his hand on mine for a moment and squeezed, and then removed it.

"I deserved it," I said stubbornly.

He sighed heavily. "He sure did a number on you, kiddo, you didn't deserve how he treated you."

I lowered my head even more, suddenly feeling tears in my eyes. "I _did_ deserve it," I whispered.

He leaned towards me and I peeked at him moving only my eyes. His face was earnest. "No, you deserve to be cared for, and to be happy and feel safe. You're a good kid, Zan."

The tears spilled over then, and I put my hand up to my face, embarassed. I felt his hand on my arm, and he said, "C'mere," and pulled me onto his lap. I started sobbing as he put his arms around me, and leaned on his flannel chest.

"Shh, it's all right," he murmured, "You're all right, you're gonna be okay."

All the tension I had been holding in since the night before drained out of me as I sat there, feeling Mr. Winchester rub my back. I cried for a couple of minutes, and then sat up and wiped my face with my sleeves. I got off of his lap and sat back in my chair.

"I only got a couple more lines to write," I said.

He smiled at me briefly. "Good," he stood up, "I'm going to take a shower."

Once he had started moving around the room, and went into the bathroom, Sam and Dean started to wake up. They were both moving slow- I guessed they were a little hung over, because there were several empty beer bottles on the coffee table. They must have stayed up late drinking the night before.

"How's it going?" Sam came over to the table, scratching his head.

"Done," I put the pencil down and flexed my hand. "I know it looks like shi- crap, but it's finished."

Sam picked up the papers and looked them over. "Not too bad," he commented, "Good job," He set the papers down, "Hey, can I have you do something?"

He opened his laptop and found a website with math equations. "How much of this can you do?" he asked.

I tried to figure out as many as I could, but it wasn't much. I got frustrated, and finally pushed the computer away, fighting the tears in my eyes.

Sam looked at the screen, and then at me. "How far did you say you got in school?" he asked softly.

"I, uh, went to kindergarten an' then we got kicked outta our place, an' started to move around. I went to a couple different schools when I was in first grade, and then—then, uh, Dad took me out, after-" I looked down at my lap, feeling my throat get tight.

He nodded. "You said before that a teacher said you might be... dyslexic?"

"Yeah, uh, Ms. Jones, my _first_ first grade teacher. She tested everyone's reading levels at the beginning of the year an' I got in the lowest group, an' I couldn't- I couldn't get it, the letters always mixed up. My mom went into school for a conference with her. Ms. Jones wanted me to go to a special reading class but Dad wouldn't give his permission."

Sam made a slight noise in the back of his throat. "Well, when we get you to Pastor Jim, I'm sure he'll do whatever it takes to get you all caught up with your learning."

After Mr. Winchester had showered, we packed up and got on the road. He said his friend that had asked for his help was about 9 hours away. We stopped at a drive-through for breakfast, and had been on the highway for several hours when Mr. Winchester's truck began to act funny. Smoke had started to come from under the hood. Sam spoke with him on the phone, and then we pulled off into one of those large rest stops that's also a 'Welcome Center'. This one had a building that had photographs on the walls describing local history and brochures and maps to take. There was also a building full of vending machines and a large playground with a picnic area next to it.

When Mr. Winchester opened the hood of his truck, black smoke billowed out. He and Dean began to look over the engine while Sam took me to the rest room.

"Go on and play, I think we may be here for a while," Sam told me when we came back to the vehicles.

I walked around the edges of the playground, and then found a bench and sat on it for a while, watching the other kids. There were a couple of little kids digging in the dirt with sticks. "Mommy, I found a worm!" one of them called, holding something up.

There were so many kids that all the equipment was constantly in use. I didn't want to get jostled while climbing on the monkey bars, or try going up a slide and getting stuck again, so I just sat.

Eventually one of the swings was empty, so I ran over and sat down. I closed my eyes and leaned my head back, feeling the wind in my hair as I swung back and forth, remembering the times that Iz and I had sat next to each other and swung together. She'd finally gotten big enough that we could lean over and hold hands while we swung- she loved to do that with me.

"ALEXANDRA!" I heard a man's voice yell, and I jerked upright. My stomach twisted with fear- how could my father be here? I felt a wave of panic—why was he here? What was he going to do?

I heard it again, _"ALEXANDER!_ Alex, you and Zachary get over here _NOW!"_ the man yelled again, and I realized I'd misheard him. Two identical twin boys with short blonde hair trotted past the swingset, towards the camper van that was parked across the lot.

As they walked over, the man standing in front of the camper reached out and smacked the head of one of the boys. The boy's shoulders slumped and he opened the door of the camper and went inside. The man loomed over the other boy, gripping his shoulder and saying something in his ear. I recognized all of it- the smacking of the head, the shoulders slumping, the way the other boy was leaning back as his father grabbed him and got in his face. My stomach was twisted so tightly it was hurting now, and I put my feet down to slow the swing. Somehow my foot caught on something and I was wrenched out of the swing, tumbling head over heels onto the crushed gravel that was on the ground. My head hurt and my ankle hurt and I felt stunned.

I tried to sit up and the swing smacked me in the face, and I flopped back down again.

"Little girl, are you okay?" A woman came over, peering down at me with concern on her face. She squatted down and held her hand out. "I saw you take a tumble- oh, your head is cut!" She moved her hand towards my face as I sat up, and I flinched back.

She took my arm and helped me stand. "Where's your family?" she asked, and I waved my arm at the side of the lot that the Winchesters were parked on.

She started to walk me over, and Sam met us halfway on the grass.

"Does she belong to you? She fell off the swings and must've sliced her head open on one of the rocks, poor thing," the woman said to him.

"Yeah, she's ours," Sam said, holding his arm out to me. The woman let go of me and I walked over to Sam.

"There's a hospital two exits up, going north," the woman said, "she looks like she might need stitches."

"Thanks," Sam said, putting his arm around my shoulders. I could feel something trickling down the side of my temple from my scalp now. Sam looked down at me as he led me towards the car. "You okay?" he leaned over, "Oh, I see it. Yeah, you need a couple of stitches," he clicked his tongue and squeezed my shoulder, "We'll take care of you."

He opened the back door of the Impala and pushed me to sit down. "What happened?"

I looked up at him and tears filled my eyes. "I was swinging—my foot caught and, and I—I dunno, I just—fell, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to, I just-"

"Shh, it's okay," Sam said soothingly, "Is your head the only thing that hurts?"

"My—my ankle hurts a little, my foot got twisted," I told him.

"I noticed you were limping a little," Sam said, squatting down in front of me, "Let me take a look."

He took my foot in his hand and put it on his thigh, and moved my pants cuff up. He turned my foot side to side, and pulled the sock down to look at the skin. "Does that hurt?" he asked as he bent my foot upwards.

I winced, "A little."

"You may have twisted your ankle slightly, I'll wrap it for you," He put my foot down and stood up, then walked over to Mr. Winchester's truck, where he and Dean were still huddled over the open hood. I heard him say, "-hurt herself, gonna need stitches, and her ankle's a little sore too."

"Dammit," I heard Mr. Winchester swear, and then a clank as he threw a tool down.

"We'll get this figured out, Dad," I heard Dean say.

They came walking over to me and stood there looking at me.

"It's going to be too dark to see soon, we might as well find a place for the night," Mr. Winchester's voice was bitter as he wiped his hands off on a paper towel. "I think there's places to stay at the next exit, hopefully the truck will make it that far," his eyes came to rest on me, "You got hurt, huh?"

I gulped and looked up at him, unsure if he was angry at me. "M'sorry, I didn't mean to fall, I wasn't—it was a accident-" All of a sudden my eyes filled with tears again.

"It's okay, kiddo," Dean said, looking at me, "what's wrong?"

"I—I thought I heard- a man called, 'Alexander', he was—c-calling his boy, but I thought he said my name, and I—I thought it w-was my f-father, and I got—sca-" my chest hitched as I spoke, and I couldn't say I felt scared of my father, the words caught in my throat. "The boys went over to the man an' he hit the one boy an', an' grabbed the other, an' it jus' re—reminded me of—of-" I started to cry harder then, not knowing why, and I lowered my head and covered my face with my hands.

I flinched as I felt hands taking my arms, and then someone was lifting me to a standing position, and I made a scared sound in the back of my throat. Then I was sitting on Sam's lap in the back seat, and he was rubbing my back and speaking in a low voice to me, telling me it was okay and that I was safe and they were going to take care of me.

I leaned on his chest and sobbed.

I heard car doors closing and the engine start. Sam shifted me onto the seat. "We've gotta get buckled," he told me, and I felt him buckling the seatbelt over my lap. He continued to hold me as Dean drove the car, and we sat for a few minutes while Mr. Winchester got a room for us.

Sam led me into the room and sat me down at the head of the bed. Dean brought over a small duffle and set it at the foot of the bed, unzipping it and taking things out. Mr. Winchester washed his hands in the sink and then came over to us.

"Let me see your head," he said. I leaned forward and felt his fingers probing the cut on my head, which was stinging painfully by now. I sucked in a breath and bit my lip.

"Yeah, I'd say three, maybe four. You got this, Sammy?"

"I can do it," Sam said, walking over to the sink to wash his hands.

Mr. Winchester let my head go. "All right, Sam's going to stitch your head up. I'm not going to lie, it's going to hurt. I've got some numbing spray, but it doesn't take away all the pain. You're going to have to sit _absolutely_ still while Sam puts the stitches in. Can you do that?"

"Y-yessir," I said nervously.

I watched as Sam pulled out a small box and pulled dark thread out of it, then snipped it and threaded a curved needle. "You were unconcious the last time I stitched you up," he told me.

Dean sat down on the other side of me. "Hold my hand and squeeze it, okay?" he smiled at me, "You got this." I took his hand and held it tightly.

Sam looked at my head, then shook his head. "I'm sorry to say this, but I'm going to need to shave it a little," he said, "Just around where the wound is. It's at a place where you can part your hair differently and cover it, so it won't show. Okay?"

"Yessir," I squeaked. I gasped as I felt the razor on my head, and gasped again when Mr. Winchester sprayed the cold numbing spray on my head. It made my skin tingle and burn a little.

"Oooh," I whined as I felt the needle go into my scalp. It didn't exactly hurt but I felt it pulling.

"It's okay, squeeze my hands," Dean said.

"You're doing good, three more," Sam said. I sucked in my breath as I felt the needle again and more pulling. "I've got to draw the edges together, sorry," Sam breathed, "Okay... there we go, just...one more, okay. One more instead of two. There. Let me—tie-this-off-" I whimpered as I felt it pulling tighter for a moment, and I squirmed. Dean held my hands tightly. "Almost there," he said encouragingly.

"All right, I've got to cut the suture now."

"What? C-cut-?" I cried out.

"No, not you, I'm done, but I've got to trim the sutures down so that you don't have a long thread hanging down," Sam explained with a chuckle.

I heard scissors snipping, and then he stood up straight. "There, done," he said with satisfaction.

"Good job," Dean looked over at me with a smile amd squeezed my hand.

"It's all done, Zan, you sat still really well," Sam smiled down at me, and moved away to put the scissors into the duffle.

Mr. Winchester leaned over and I felt his hands on my head. "Looks great, Sammy," he said, "Nice and even, that will barely scar if at all," he let go of my head, "I really thought we were gonna have to hold you down. Good girl," he said gruffly to me, and I looked up at him and burst into tears.

Mr. Winchester looked surprised. "You did good, kiddo, it's all over," he said.

I reached out for him, and he put his arms around me. I tried to make myself stop crying, but I couldn't, the fear I had felt before when I'd thought I heard my father, coupled with the pain from the scalp injury, and being tense and having to keep still while Sam stitched me up, all mixed together until I was a mess. Everything felt twisted up inside.

I slowly relaxed and came back to myself. I was sitting on Mr. Winchester's lap, with my face buried in his flannel. He smelled like leather and gun oil and a hint of wood smoke. His shoulders and chest were broad and solid and my arms didn't reach all the way around. He was stroking the back of my head with one of his hands.

I moved my face out of his shirt, and said, "Papa Bear."

"What?" he leaned his head down, "what'd you say?"

"Papa Bear," I repeated, "That's what Ash at the Roadhouse called you."

"Oh," he chuckled, "That kid's crazy."

I realized what was different. I wasn't feeling tense, waiting to be hit for hurting myself. Whenever I'd been on a hunt with my father, if something had happened to me, he'd take it out on me later, even if it wasn't my fault. The Winchesters weren't going to do that, they weren't going to hit me for falling, they weren't going to come after me with fists because of an accident.

I wanted to say to Mr. Winchester, but you are Papa Bear, you're not like my father.

I wanted to ask if I could call him that, but I didn't know how to say it.

Sam sat down next to us. "You okay now? Can I look at your ankle?"

He lifted my leg and set my foot on his lap, and gently removed my boot and sock. He moved my foot side to side and I winced. He looked at my ankle, turning my leg slightly.

"It looks a little swollen, but it's not bruised yet. I'll wrap it, just to be on the safe side."

He leaned over and got something out of the duffle on the end of the bed. He wrapped my ankle and foot in an elastic bandage, and then put my sock back on.

"You won't be able to wear your boot with that bandage, where's your other shoes?"

"Uh, I think they're in my duffle," I told him. I started to get up.

"Sit still, I'll go and get them," he stood up.

Mr. Winchester looked down at me. "Better now?" he asked.

I nodded. "Thanks."

Sam brought over my tennis shoes, and I took off my other boot and slipped the tennis shoes on. Dean came over, holding up his phone. "So I was looking around, and there's an Italian restaurant up the road from here, wanna go there for dinner? Zan can get as much spaghetti as she wants."

Sam smiled. "That sounds like a great idea."

"I, uh, we don't have to go, I know you like diners," I looked at Dean.

"S' okay, kiddo, I don't care where we eat, this is for you." He slung his arm around my shoulders.

"Oh, thanks." I looked down and tried to blink away the tears that had come to my eyes. No one had ever taken me to eat somewhere that I liked or wanted to go, my father had never taken my wants or likes into consideration. We always went where he wanted to go, even when my mom and Iz had been alive.

"Can you walk okay?" Sam asked as we walked towards the door.

"It hurts a little, but the bandage helps," I said. I had had to walk around when I had been hurt a lot worse than a twisted ankle.

"I don't think we have any children's pain medicine, the ibuprofen got left at the Roadhouse. We can stop and get some," Mr. Winchester said.

"M'okay," I told him.

The restaurant served us a basket of garlic bread and I ate two pieces and almost all of the plate of spaghetti with meatballs. Dean insisted we get tiramisu, which was a dessert that was layers of cake with creamy filling in between them. He said he only liked it because it was made with coffee, that nothing was better than pie.

The restaurant had an open floor in the middle of it, and tables placed all around each side. There were signs up about dancing on certain nights. This time it was a night for performers. A woman got up and sang some songs in another language while a man accompanied her on guitar. Then she and a couple of other people performed short scenes from operas where they sang everything. Then two men came out, they had black and white costumes on and back and white face makeup. Mr. Winchester said they were dressed like old-fashioned clowns.

They were very over-exaggerated and silly, and it was almost like watching a live-action cartoon. Everyone was laughing at their antics.

I noticed Sam and Dean looking at me. "What?" I asked curiously.

"That's the first time I've heard you laugh, kiddo," Dean smiled at me and put his arm on the back of my chair. He watched me, and his eyes looked a little sad.


	24. Caught in a Prison of Your Own Devise

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Apologies if the ending of the chapter seems abrupt. I didn't want there to be a huge lapse in posting, but...the new pain medication I was prescribed caused a massive 3-day migraine, my migraine medication wasn't working, and I had to go to the ER for an injection of pain medication...still recovering and dealing with headache. Trying to write when I can, it distracts from the pain! Thanks for sticking with me!**

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The next morning, Dean and Mr. Winchester spent a long time working on the engine of the truck. Sam went out to get breakfast and brought back a bag full of breakfast sandwiches and a drink carrier with four large coffees. It was cold outside, and they stood outside cupping their hands around their cups.

The door opened and they came into the room. All of them were red-faced from the cold.

"We're going to go out and try to find an auto-supply shop to get some parts," Mr. Winchester told me, "The boys are going to follow me in case the truck breaks down."

"You should probably stay here, it'll be boring standing around in a store and then waiting while we try and fix the engine," Dean said easily, "At least here you'll be in the warm room with the t.v. I think there's a sci-fi movie marathon on this afternoon."

"There should be some microwave food left for you," Sam smiled at me, "And we'll call and bring you back something."

"I'll leave my extra cell phone here," Dean set it on the bedside table.

"Okay," I agreed. Even though I had a warm coat now, I didn't relish the idea of sitting in the back of the car being cold and waiting while they worked on Mr. Winchester's truck. I hadn't liked being outside when it was cold, and I had hated when my father made me come with him on hunts in the winter-time.

"Keep your foot elevated," Sam told me. My ankle was still a little sore today. Sam had removed the bandage last night, and then re-wrapped it after I'd gotten out of bed this morning.

After they left I found the movie marathon that Dean was talking about. The movies were the black and white ones from a long time ago, with bad special effects. They kept showing advertisements for junk food, chips and salsa, sodas, popcorn, and appetizers. It made me hungry. I found the bag with food in it and made myself some microwave mac and cheese, and then a container of soup. There was a small bag of sour cream and onion chips in the bag, and I thought it would go good with a soda. There was only bottles of beer in the small fridge. Watching the commercials had made me really want a soda, I hadn't had one in a long time.

I had some loose change in the outside pocket of my backpack, so I got it out and put it in my pocket.

The hotel was one of those types that had long rows of rooms, identical white walls and tan colored doors. I remembered seeing a building as we had drove to the room, that had a sign outside with a washing machine on it. There had been another smaller sign that had soda logos in the window. I knew that the buildings with the washing machines usually had other vending machines in them.

I left the room, hearing the door click shut behind me. I walked two rows over, certain that that's where I had seen the building with the laundry. It wasn't there. I turned around and walked back, but I have a bad sense of direction. Everything looked the same and I got turned around. It took me a long time to get back to the row where our room was. I walked up to the door, tears of relief in my eyes, and turned the knob. It was locked. My stomach twisted with fear. I hadn't realized it, but this door was one of those that locked automatically. I was stuck outside until the Winchesters came back. I sank down with my back against the door and buried my head in my knees. I let myself cry for a few minutes, then I got up and wiped my face. There were woods at the end of the row, and I had to pee. I walked into the woods until I couldn't see the parking lot anymore, and squatted down to relieve myself. Then I found a place to sit that was partially shaded, and sat down against a tree to wait.

It was cold and the wind blew occasionally. I hadn't put my jacket on because I had figured I'd only be outside for a couple of minutes. I shivered in the cold, and then began to pull armfuls of leaves over me. Dad had told me that leaves could keep you warm if you were ever stuck outside in the cold. I shifted more into the sunlight and piled the leaves up over my legs.

I woke up with a start, sitting up with a jerk, and it took me a second to realize what had made me wake up. The rumble of the Impala and then the car doors creaking open and slamming closed.

I stood up, brushing the leaves off of my pants, and hurried over to the room. The door was partially open, and I walked in.

Dean was standing by the bed looking at his cell phone. Sam was coming out of the bathroom, saying, "-not in here-"

They both looked at me when I came in. As soon as they saw me I saw emotions crossing their faces- worry, then relief, and then anger.

"Zan, where were you?" Sam asked.

Dean held up the cell phone. "I called you like 4 times!" he snapped.

"I—I went to get a soda, an' the door locked so I couldn't get back in, so I went—I hadda pee so I went into the woods an' just sat there, an' I fell asleep- m'sorry-"

As I talked, Dean walked around the bed, and then he grabbed my arm. "Sorry doesn't cut it!" he said loudly, turning me. I felt a sting on my butt and realized he had swatted me. I gasped and felt tears come to my eyes.

"You went to get a soda? What the _hell?_ We were worried _sick_ about you when you didn't answer my calls! You've _got_ to stop doing your own thing, kid, and _stop-_ _breaking- the rules!"_ His hand smacked my butt again and again as he spoke, and the last words were punctuated by harder swats that made the tears in my eyes spill over.

He let go of my arm and pointed at the sofa. "Go sit your ass down over there and think about things!" he snapped.

I stumbled over my feet as I hurried over to the sofa, not able to see well through the tears that were falling. I plunked down on the cushion and pulled my legs up in front of me, burying my face in my knees and wrapping my arms around my shins. I didn't bother saying the digits of Pi, I knew it wouldn't help me.

I heard Sam say, "Dean," and then quiet talking.

A few minutes later I heard the scrape of a chair, and then someone cleared their throat. I peered over the tops of my knees. Sam was sitting in the armchair next to the sofa, and Dean was sitting facing me in one of the straight-backed chairs from the table.

"Uh, Zan, listen, I'm, uh, I'm sorry," Dean's head was down, his elbows resting on his knees and his hands clasped together. He raised his head and looked at me. His face looked sheepish and his eyes were worried.

"Sorry for what?" I whispered.

"For, uh, swatting you, I shouldn't have done that, I, uh, I just responded out of fear, y'know, like I did when Sam was a kid," he sat up and his face changed, "I was worried, and scared, y'know, that something had happened to you, and I got upset."

"I deserved it," I said hoarsely, "I deserve a ass-kicking, I f-fucked up again."

Sam sighed, and got up to sit next to me. I was trapped with him there and Dean in front of me, and I tensed- here it comes-

Sam leaned forward and put his hand on my arm. "No, you don't deserve an ass-kicking," his voice was gentle. I peeked at him over my kneecaps and he smiled at me.

"And you didn't fuck up," Dean added, "You broke a rule, that's different. When Sammy was a kid and I was in charge of him, if he did something dangerous, or broke a rule, I'd spank his ass, and I guess I just—I went into big-brother mode all over again," he shifted in the chair and tilted his head slightly, watching me. "I'm sorry I just started smacking you outta nowhere. I don't want you to—to think I'm going to hurt you, or you to be afraid of me."

"M' not," I said, "You g-gonna kick my ass l-later?" I swiped at my wet cheeks with my hands.

Dean shook his head. "No ass-kicking, kiddo. Not now, not later. I can't promise you won't get another butt-warming if you put yourself in danger like that again, but no-one's gonna kick your ass."

He held out his arm to me. I put my legs down and cautiously got off of the sofa and went to him. He pulled me to sit on his thigh and hugged me, and I felt tears come to my eyes again. I put my arms around him and buried my face in his flannel. I _wasn't_ scared of Dean, and it felt odd to me that he was apologizing for hitting me, and concerned that I would be scared of him. It felt odd to hear him say he was worried about me.

My chest hitched and I realized I was crying again.

He looked down at me. "What's wrong?"

"You—you said you were—scared, and w-worried, about me," I sniffled.

"Kinda starting to think of you like a little sister, kid." He ruffled my hair, and squeezed me tightly.

I turned my face up to him. "Y-you are?"

He smiled. "Yeah, I think we both are, right, Sammy?"

"Yeah, and I gotta tell you, it'll be nice to not be thought of as 'the little brother,'" Sam chuckled.

"Oh, Sammy, you're always gonna be my baby brother," Dean said with a little smirk.

Sam sighed. "Shut up, jerk, I'm not a baby."

"Oh, make me, bitch," Dean said, and they both laughed.

Dean put his hand on my arm. "You're cold," he said, "You got stuck outside all day without a coat!"

"I think we've still got some instant coffee in the trunk, I can make you some, okay?" Sam smiled at me again. "It'll warm you up."

"O-okay," I agreed.

Sam stood up and walked over to his duffle. He dug around for a moment, and then pulled something out. "Here's a hoodie, it's real thick and warm," he tossed it over to Dean, who caught it out of the air.

I pulled the hoodie on over my head, and stood up. Dean pulled the blankets off of the bed and brought them over to the sofa while Sam went out to the car.

"Sit down," he said, motioning to the sofa. I sat, and he arranged the blankets around me, tucking them in so that I was cocooned.

"I've gotta call Dad and let him know you're okay, we were all worried when you didn't pick up the phone," he told me, pulling out his call phone, "Hey, Dad, I wanted to let you know we found her, she's fine. She left the room to go get a soda and got locked out, didn't take the cell phone with her. Yeah, I know." he walked towards the door and glanced at me, "Yeah, well, I, uh—" he opened the door and left the room.

In a couple of minutes he came back in with Sam.

Sam had found some packets of hot chocolate mix as well as instant coffee, so he made a concoction that had both in them for all of us, with added sugar and cream left over from the morning. I sat between them on the sofa, covered in blankets, and we watched an old Japanese sci-fi show about a giant robot that fought Godzilla.

The movie had ended and we were most of the way through another movie about killer slugs, when the door opened. Mr. Winchester came into the room carrying flat boxes and a bag. He set them down on the table. Sam and Dean got up and walked over.

"Pizza and soda," he told us, "No onion rings this time," he said to Dean.

"Good," Sam rolled his eyes, and Dean smacked his arm.

Mr. Winchester pulled Dean away from the table, putting his hand on Dean's shoulder, and said something to him in a low voice. He looked Dean in the eyes, and Dean nodded, smiling, and said, "Thanks, Dad."

Mr. Winchester walked over to the couch where I was still sitting. My stomach clenched up with nerves. I guessed Dean had told him about how I had left the room.

"I want to talk to you for a minute," he said to me. His face looked stern but not angry. "Dean told me what happened. By now, you should know that none of us are going to hurt you like your father did, and it's not like it was when you were with him. However, you still have to follow the rules, and obey the orders that I give you. We care about you and want to keep you safe, and you also need to keep yourself safe by being responsible. You need to consider things before you do something and not just rush into a situation."

"Yes sir. Like you said, a good hunter considers all the angles of a situation before they make a move," I said, repeating what he had told me in the past.

"Right. Having said all that, if you disobey an order or put yourself in danger again, you will be taking a trip across my knee. Is that clear?"

I gulped. "Y-yes sir."

"Do you have any questions about the rules or anything?"

"No sir. You gonna kick m-my ass later?"

He shook his head. "No, Zan. No ass-kicking, now or later. No one is going to hit you with fists, or kick you or slap you, no one is going to beat you. You don't need to worry about that any more. Now come and have some pizza."

I stood up and walked over to the table, feeling relief flood through me. Dean handed me a paper plate with a slice of pizza on it.

I looked at him. Even though he had spanked me, he was always nice to me. He had rescued me off of the slide when I got stuck there, he had carried me out of the forest when I was hurt, he had bought a tape of The Doors for us to listen to. He'd said he was starting to feel like I was his little sister and that they'd worried about me. Sam was nice too, he had given me a piggyback ride when I kept falling in the woods and taken care of me when I was injured, he had tucked me in and always smiled at me. Mr. Winchester could be intimidating, but he was kind and kept telling me nothing was going to happen to me. He had taken me in and bought me clothes and let me order whatever food I wanted. He'd said they cared about me and wanted to keep me safe.

I hadn't felt safe in a long time. Even when my Mom was alive, there was always a sense of 'what's going to happen next' because even back then my father had a temper, it just wasn't as bad as it got after she died. No-one had done things for me like the Winchesters had done- we'd had to leave our toys when we got kicked out of our place, Dad bought us the cheapest clothes and only let us order certain things off of menus. I was expected to do what he told me even if I was tired or scared.

"Zan—what's wrong?" Sam was standing next to me. "Are you crying?"

I lifted my head- I had started to cry while I'd been thinking all that. "Sorry," I swiped my sleeve over my face. I cleared my throat.

"Why are you crying, what's the matter?" Sam's voice was concerned.

I looked up at him. Dean and Mr. Winchester were looking over at me now too.

"You—you said you were worried about me an' you care about me an' I just—I can't-" feelings rose up in me that I couldn't identify and I started to cry harder. I put my plate on the table and covered my face with my hands, embarrassed.

"Hey, it's okay...of course we care about you, you're a sweet kid," Sam had pulled me to a standing position and put his arms around me.

"Not—used—t-to-th-this," my chest was heaving with sobs.

"Not used to what?" Sam asked.

"S-safe," was all I could get out.

"Oh," Sam squeezed my shoulder, "Well, you are safe with us, we're not going to let anything happen to you, and we're not going to hurt you."

I leaned my head on his chest and nodded. I really did believe that now. I made myself stop crying and swiped at my face again. Dean handed me a napkin and I dried my tears.

Mr. Winchester's phone rang, and he began talking, "We had to stop, my truck needed some work. I found the parts today, and we'll get back on the road tomorrow-" he left the room to continue his talk in private.

After Mr. Winchester came back into the room, he told us to pack everything so that we could leave first thing in the morning. We finished eating and then packed our duffles, and sat down to watch another old movie.

The next thing I remembered I was waking up when Dean laid me down in bed, and Sam pulled the covers up around me. Dean touched my cheek and said, "Sleep well."


	25. The Day Destroys the Night

**AUTHORS NOTE: Well, my muse surprised me once again and went to a dark place. There is a sexual assault in this chapter, although it gets stopped before anything happens. PLEASE use caution when reading if this kind of thing will trigger or bother you. If you don't want to read it, message me and I'll give you a brief synopsis of what happened.**

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Dean's cell phone rang, and I hurried across the room to answer it.

"Hello?"

"Hey, kiddo, how's it going?"

"It's okay...the heater still isn't working." We were in a new motel room and the heating unit would only pump out cool air. It was cold outside, and windy, and the room itself was cool as well.

"Did you put on your long johns?" Dean asked.

"Yeah, and I've got the blankets all piled on the sofa too."

"Good, just stay in the blankets, and well talk to the manager when we get back. We probably won't get back till late, though, we still need to salt and burn the bones. You staying in the room?"

"Yes sir."

"Good girl. Don't stay up waiting for us, we'll probably be home late. Gotta wait for it to get dark before we can do any digging at the cemetary."

"I won't."

"All right, talk to you later."

"Bye, Dean." I hung up and brought the phone over to the sofa where I was sitting. We have been on the road for several hours, and had reached Mr. Winchester's friend. They had gotten a motel room, and only been in it briefly before making plans to meet.

I watched t.v. all day, huddled in the blankets and eating. I felt hungrier than usual, and before long, I had eaten everything that we had- two containers of mac and cheese, two containers of soup, a granola bar, and a package of yogurt covered raisins. I didn't like raisins but I ate them anyway. By the time I went to sleep, my stomach was rumbling. As the day had gone on, the room just felt colder and colder. I put my coat, hat, and gloves on, and wrapped myself in the blankets when I decided to try and go to sleep.

The wind was blowing stronger outside, and I could hear leaves scuffing around in the parking lot outside. Something knocked against the door or the outside wall of the room a couple of times and startled me. I got up, and went to sit in front of the t.v. again, hoping to be distracted by the noise. I tried not to feel scared, I had used to get scared when my father would leave me alone in the room, but he'd cured me of that after he'd come back and found me crying a couple of times. He'd said he wasn't raising a sissy and if I wanted to cry he'd give me something to cry about. After that I shoved my fear deep inside so that it didn't bother me.

I woke up when the door opened, and the Winchesters walked in in a gust of cold air.

"Man, it's cold in here!" Dean said. His cheeks were red.

"Zan, why aren't you in bed?" Mr. Winchester asked with a hint of stern-ness.

"I, uh, I got, uh, nervous 'cause the wind was blowing and it sounded like someone was knocking...I wanted to distract myself, an' I fell asleep on the sofa," I said, ducking my head.

He walked over to the heating unit and twisted the knobs, holding his hands in front of the grates.

"This hasn't warmed up at all, huh?" he turned to me.

"No sir," I shook my head.

Sam had come over to me, and he looked at me. "Still pretty cold, huh kiddo?" he asked.

"Yeah, I ate everything we had, sorry. I was tryin' to stay warm an' I just kept getting hungry." I felt a little nervous, I wasn't sure if they'd been meaning for that food to be for them.

"That's okay, we should have brought you something back, but we figured you'd be asleep."

"I'm going to go over to the office and ask for a different room," Mr. Winchester said, "I'll be back."

A few minutes later, Dean got a phone call. "Grab your stuff, we're going to a different room. Dad persuaded them to give us another room."

I picked up my duffle and followed them out to the car. We drove to the other side of the motel, and parked next to Mr. Winchester's truck, already in a space. The motel door opened and he let us in. We carried our duffles in and set them down.

I took my shoes and coat off, and walked over to the bed.

Mr. Winchester had turned the heater on, and the room warmed up quickly. I laid down in bed and fell asleep, comfortable in the warmth.

In the morning I was starving. Mr. Winchester said we could go get breakfast at a diner that was nearby.

As we were getting in the car, a portly man walked over. "How's the room, was it warm enough for ya?"

"Yes, it was fine, thanks," Mr. Winchester replied.

"I'll get the heater in the other one looked at today," the man looked over at us, "You traveling with your kids?"

"Yep, and we're going to go get some breakfast," Mr. Winchester's voice was abrupt, and he nodded at Dean. We got into the car and left. I notice the man staring after the car as we drove away.

We were sitting in the diner eating when Mr. Winchester said, "There's another case, Eli asked me to look into it, the next county over. I told him we'd do it, it's not that far away."

"What is it?" Dean asked through a mouthful of scrambled eggs.

"People keep dying in strange ways, he's started some research, but he's not sure what it could be. We're going to go over to his house and look at what he's got after we eat," Mr. Winchester looked at me, "I'll take you with us to his house, Zan, but after that I'll take you back to the motel. We'll need to change into our suits in order to talk to the families and the M.E."

"Yessir," I said.

We drove to a small one-story house in a neighborhood that was near the diner. There were some little kids running on the sidewalks with their mothers trailing behind them. Mr. Winchester knocked on the front door, and the man who answered peered outside first, and then opened the door. He stepped back to let us enter. "These people hate me because I won't get involved in their neighborhood watch or any of that nonsense," he said, "I'm just here to live my life, not make friends and get all buddy-buddy with these families."

"Staying under the radar is best," Mr. Winchester said.

"Well, come downstairs, I've got all my research there," Eli said.

Mr. Winchester turned to me. "Sit down, we won't be that long."

"Yessir," I said, walking over to the sofa.

The man looked at me. "Don't touch anything," he said sternly.

"She won't, she's a good kid," Dean smiled at me, They followed Eli out of the room, and I sat down. There was an oblong metal wooden trunk in front of the sofa, being used as a coffee table. There were magazines spread all over the top- one had photos of guns and bullets, and I recognized the word 'gun' in the title. Another magazine had photos of deer and men wearing camouflage gear holding guns. There were a some magazines that looked like newspapers with grainy-looking photos of things like Bigfoot and weird looking creatures and aliens. I looked through some of them, staring at the strange photographs. I wondered if they were real.

Before they dropped me off, we stopped at a store and Dean bought some more food for the room. He let me pick things I wanted to eat, and he and Sam left me at the room with strict instructions not to leave.

~ ~ spn ~ ~ spn ~ ~ spn ~ ~

This was the third day on my own. The case had gone on longer than the Winchesters had thought, and I was getting pretty bored in the room by myself. Sam had told me we could go look for a playground when they got back today, but it was so cold outside that I didn't want to be outside for longer than I had to be.

There was a knock on the door.

"Housekeeping," a voice said, and I heard a key in the lock as the door opened. The pudgy man from before stood there. "Oh, he said in surprise, "What are you-"

I didn't know what to say to him.

"Where's your family?" he asked, coming closer to me. "They go out every day for a long time. Do they just leave you here?" he looked at me suspiciously, "What do they do?"

"Uh- they're uh, helping...friends of theirs."

"They wouldn't be doing anything...illegal, now would they?"

I felt nervous. Even though hunters didn't technically do anything illegal, they still had to stay off the radar. "Uh, no, sir."

He nodded. "Why aren't you in school?"

"Um, they, uh, I get homeschooled," I lied.

He looked around the room. "Where's your books?"

I felt my face flushing. I didn't know what to say to him.

He came closer to me. "I think it's... interesting that this family that's here goes out all the time and leaves their kid back, for hours and hours, all by her lonesome. That ain't right. How old are you, kid? In this state, it's illegal for kids under the age of 12 to be left alone for more than 2 hours."

"Uh-"

"You're such a pretty little thing, I'd _hate_ to think of something happening to you. I might just have to call Child Protective Services to come and take you away, so that you can be with a family who don't leave you alone all the time."

"No!" my voice burst out of me, "No, go away! Leave me alone!"

"Well, I think I might have to make that call. Unless you do something for me."

"Wh-what?" I asked nervously.

He rubbed his hand over the front of his jeans. It looked like there was a bulge there. "You can-" his phone buzzed, and he grabbed it and pressed a button, and the buzzing stopped. He stared at me, a funny look on his face.

"It'll be just you and me, our secret. You don't tell anyone, and I won't tell CPS on your family, okay?"

He was rubbing the front of his jeans now, harder, and his face was getting red. He started to pull down his zipper, and his phone buzzed again. "God-damnit!" he snarled, and I flinched.

He answered his phone. "What?" he listened for a moment, "Well just—tell her we'll give her credit! No! I'm busy, can't you just-" he sighed angrily, "Jesus Christ, you're a fucking idiot. I'll be there when I can, she's gonna have to wait!" he hung up, muttering, "asshole."

"Now, where were we?" he asked, walking towards me. I stepped backwards, away from him, afraid of the look in his eyes. I felt the edge of the bed against the backs of my knees, and fell backwards onto the bed. In one quick movement he had grabbed me and pulled me further up the bed, and then he was on top of me, sitting on my torso. His thighs were on either side of me, trapping my arms against my body.

"I saw how you looked at me earlier," he said, "You've got such a pretty little mouth, I'm gonna put it to good use," he was rubbing the front of his jeans again.

"Lemme go," I whispered.

"Not until we've had some fun," he said, and he undid the button and zipper on his jeans. He reached into his open pants and moved his hand, closing his eyes for a moment.

"What—are you-" I breathed, not understanding what he was doing.

He opened his eyes and looked down at me. "You don't know?" he laughed meanly, "I was _sure_ a little ho like you would already know what to do. I'm gonna put my dick in your mouth, and you're gonna suck me off."

I panicked just then, realizing what he wanted. I had seen my father naked before when he was changing his clothes, and when I was younger Mom had explained that boys and girls had different parts in the front. Once I had come across a couple of boys on the edge of a playground, peeing into the woods, and heard them talking about their dick sizes. I squirmed under him, kicking my feet and arching my back to try and get away.

"Ooh, keep doing that," he said with a smirk, and I stopped.

"You ready?" he asked.

I shut my eyes and turned my head to the side.

"Hey, open up," I felt his hand on my chin, "Open your Goddamn mouth."

He pressed his fingers into my jaw, clamping down. He yanked my head, and then I felt a blow on my cheek, snapping my head to the other side.

"Open—your fucking—mouth-" he gritted out, "Look at me, bitch."

I kept my eyes squinched shut. Then I felt him bury his hand in my hair, and pull hard, yanking my head over again, and I cried out from the pain, opening my eyes.

"Good," he said, shoving his fingers in my mouth. I started to bite down, but he said, "No you don't!"

Now I couldn't close my mouth. I made a panicked sound in the back of my throat.

He grabbed my tongue and pulled it out of my mouth. "You bite me or try to close your mouth and I'll cut your fucking tongue off," he snarled.

He pulled his jeans down with his other hand, one side, and then the other, and then reached into his pants again. "I am so ready for this, are you?" he asked.

I closed my eyes again, not wanting to see anything.

"HEY!" there was a shout from across the room, "WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?"

I heard quick footsteps and the click of the safety on a gun. Suddenly the weight was off me and I opened my eyes as there was a loud crash.

Dean stood at the foot of the bed, with his gun trained on the man, who was now on the floor, rubbing his jaw. Dean looked livid.

"Zan, you okay?" Dean asked, glancing at me quickly, "Did he—hurt you?"

I shook my head. "N-no-" I said hoarsely.

The man started to get up and Dean kicked at him. "Stay the fuck down, asshole! What the _hell_ , man? She's a little girl, she's only _10 years old!"_

"Well I didn't know!" the man whined, "She's all givin' me bedroom eyes and all!"

" _Bullshit,_ you sick fuck," Dean snapped, narrowing his eyes, "You stay right there."

He walked over to the door and opened it. "Sam!" he yelled out the door, "Sam! Get in here!"

He walked back over to us. "We had to stop by on our way, I forgot I left one of the duffles. Good thing."

Sam came to the door. "What's going on, Dean?" he looked at Dean, and then at me, and then at the man sitting on the floor. I saw realization dawn on his face. "Oh—oh my God. Zan, are you-"

"Sam, you're gonna take Zan, just take her outta here and drive somewhere, and I'm gonna call Dad to come back here so we can take out the trash," Dean's voice sounded deadly.

"C'mon, I didn't—I didn't do nothin'!" the man whined again, "Just lemme go!"

I looked over at him. His pants were still open, and part of his boy part was hanging out. My stomach flipped, and I felt nausea rising in my throat. I got up and ran to the bathroom, kneeling down in front of the toilet just in time. Everything I had eaten and then some came out of me. When I was finished, my eyes were streaming and I was shaking. My throat was sore, my stomach muscles and back hurt.

I stood up and flushed the toilet, then washed my hands and rinsed my mouth out. I splashed water on my face and opened the door.

Sam stood there. "You okay?"

I nodded.

"Let's go," he said, and I followed him out to the car.

He opened the door and I got into the back seat. He leaned in and looked at me. "You sure you're okay?"

I just looked at him. After a moment he shut the door. I put the seat belt on and then pulled my knees up in front of me, wrapping my arms around my legs.

He started the car, and then turned around to me. "Hey, it's all right, it's not your fault. You did nothing wrong. You're safe now, okay?" he put his hand on my knee.

"Don't fucking touch me!" I snapped.

He took his hand away, and looked at me. His eyes looked sad. "If you want to talk about it-"

"No."

"Okay. Whenever you're ready," he said quietly, and faced front. He put the car in gear and we pulled out of the parking lot.

I stared out the window, seeing but not seeing anything. I felt like I wasn't there, like I was outside of my body, outside of my head. All my feelings felt frozen.

Eventually the car stopped. Sam said, "I'm gonna make a phone call, I'll be right outside," He got out of the car, and I saw his pacing next to the car with the phone up to his ear. After a few minutes, he got in again.

"How are you doing?" he turned back to me, "Do you need to use the rest room?"

I shook my head.

"Are you hungry or thirsty?"

I shook my head again.

"You warm enough back there?"

I nodded.

He sighed. "You feel like talking?"

I just looked at him.

"Zan-" he said, "It wasn't your fault, and you're safe now-"

"Shut up," I said, and turned away from him to stare out the window.

He sighed again. "We're going to meet up with Dean and Dad, they went to a different place."

Then he turned around, and started the car. We drove for a while, and then Sam turned into the parking lot of a motel. He drove around the back and pulled in next to Mr. Winchester's truck.

Sam opened the back door for me. I climbed out of the car and followed him to the door. He knocked, and Dean opened the door.

"Hey, kiddo," he said in a quiet voice, "How you holdin' up?" He put his arm up like he was going to hug me, but then he lowered it.

Mr. Winchester came over. He was holding an ice pack up to the side of his mouth, and I could see that his knuckles were scraped raw and swollen.

"Zan, how are you doing?" he asked, and his voice was hoarse.

I didn't answer, just walked into the room and went over to the sofa. I sat down on the end, pulling my knees up in front of me again and wrapping my arms around them.

They all came over to me.

"Are you hungry?" Dean asked. He walked over to the fridge and got out a bottle of water, opening it as he walked back over to me. He held it out to me, and I didn't move. After a moment he put the cap back on and set it on the coffeetable.

"Can you tell us what happened?" Mr. Winchester asked.

"No," I said.

"Sometimes it's good to talk about it-"

"NO. Leave me alone."

Mr. Winchester leaned forward and put his hand on my knee. "We're here for-"

"Leave me the fuck alone and don't fucking touch me!" I yelled.

He took his hand off my knee and straightened up. He looked at Sam and Dean and jerked his head, and they walked over to the kitchen area and stood there talking quietly for a few minutes. They didn't talk to me, just went about their business for a while. Dean heated something up in the microwave and ate it, and Sam took a shower.

"Zan you should go to bed, it's really late," Mr. Winchester said, "You can have the bed closest to the bathroom, I'll take the sofa bed."

"No," I said, "don't want to sleep."

"You should try, you need to rest."

"No."

"All right, I'll sit up with you," Mr. Winchester sat on the other end of the sofa. He had a book in his lap that he was paging through. I heard the noises of Sam and Dean getting ready for bed, the zippers on their duffles, the thump of boots hitting the floor, the flushing of the toilet, but it was like I wasn't there again. I stared into space, not seeing anything.

 _I was trapped there, trapped underneath him, feeling his weight on my body, not being able to take deep breaths, feeling the fear pulsing through my veins, not knowing what to do, and then I felt his fingers in my mouth again—his hand had been dirty, I could taste it, and I couldn't do anything to get it out-_

I sat up with a jerk. I had fallen asleep sitting up. I looked around- Mr. Winchester was slumped over on the other end of the sofa, head back, mouth open slightly, a soft snore coming out of his mouth. Sam and Dean were each in a bed.

My head felt like it was spinning. I didn't want to remember it any more, I didn't want to keep feeling everything, and seeing it, and feeling the feelings. I got up and walked over to the counter, where there was a half-full bottle of what my father had called 'Jack'. I removed the cap and took a drink, coughing as the strong alcohol hit the back of my throat. I forced myself to drink, even though it burned all the way down into my stomach and made tears come to my eyes.

"Zan!" Mr. Winchester yanked the bottle out of my hands and loomed over me. "What are you doing?"

"I don't wanna remember, okay? I don't want to feel it or see it, I just want—nothing!" I reached for the bottle and he pulled it away from me.

"Drinking is not the answer," he said, "You need to talk about it and- and that will help."

"I don't wanna fuckin' talk! I wanna forget!" I was starting to feel dizzy. "You don't unnerstan'," I slurred, and my tongue felt funny in my mouth, "I was so scared an' I di'nt know whatta do, he said, he said, he was gonna cut my tongue off if I closed m' mouth! He—he wanned to-" and my stomach clenched up, bile rose in my throat, and I ran to the bathroom again. This time I didn't make it, and I threw up all down the front of my shirt and the floor in front of the toilet.

When I was finished throwing up, I started to wipe up the floor. There was a knock on the door.

"Can I come in?" Dean asked. The door opened, and he looked down at me. "Oh, geez," he said, "Don't—Zan, you don't have to do that," he leaned out of the door, "Hey, Sammy, grab her pajamas, would ya?"

He walked over to me and took my arm, pulling me up to stand. "Here, I'll do that, you get changed."

Sam came to the door and handed in a stack of clothing. I changed into the pajamas and dropped the dirty clothes on the floor, then leaned over the sink and washed my hands and rinsed my mouth out.

I still felt a little dizzy and out of it, and I stumbled as I walked.

"You okay?" Sam asked.

"Don't touch me," I mumbled. I went back to the end of the sofa and sat down, curling up in a ball again.

"Zan, you should try to sleep," Mr. Winchester came over to me.

I glared up at him. "LEAVE! ME! ALONE!" I shouted, and then buried my head in my knees. I heard them moving around in the room for a while, and then the squeaking of bedsprings and clicking of lights. Mr. Winchester had sat down at the other end of the sofa again.

I raised my head and just stared into the darkness, holding on to my legs.


	26. Deliver Me From Reasons Why

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: I didn't want to leave you all hanging after such a heavy chapter, so here's the next one. Zan is dealing with the aftermath of what happened, so she experiences some pretty intense emotions. The assault is briefly discussed, so please use caution if that will bother or trigger you.**

~ ~ spn ~ ~ spn ~ ~ spn ~ ~

Every time I fell asleep I would end up right back there on the bed, feeling crushed underneath the weight of the man, and I would jerk myself awake, feeling panic rising in my stomach. I sat still in the darkness for long periods of time, listening to the breathing of the Winchesters as they slept. Every once in a while someone would shift or roll over, and I heard Dean mutter something under his breath, but I couldn't make out what he said.

Eventually the room became lighter and lighter as the sun started to come up. Mr. Winchester woke up first, sitting forward and stretching. He looked over at me, asking, "Did you sleep at all?"

"Some," I replied, staring down at my knees. I was still all curled in a ball.

He turned towards me on the sofa and leaned over. "Listen, if you want to talk-"

"I don't," I said flatly, sinking down into myself.

"Whenever you're ready," he said, standing up. He walked over to his duffle and got some clothes out, then went into the bathroom. I heard the toilet flush, and then a few moments later the shower started.

Dean woke up next, and then Sam. They moved slowly, stretching and groaning as they got out of bed.

"Hey, Zan," Dean greeted quietly as he came over to me.

"Are you hungry?" Sam asked me, "What are you in the mood to eat this morning?"

Dean sat down next to me and looked at me. "I'm in the mood for one of thise big breakfast platters that has a little bit of everything on it, y'know? And then some pie to finish. Will you help me eat some pie, Zan?" he elbowed my arm gently.

I glanced at him briefly and didn't respond.

"Well, I guess we should get dressed so we can get going. You going to get dressed, Zan?" Sam asked.

I put my head down on my knees. I knew they were trying to get me to talk, and I didn't want to.

The bathroom door opened, and Mr. Winchester came out. Dean got up and went over to him, and I heard them talking quietly. Sam moved away and got clothes out of his duffle, then went into the bathroom.

Mr. Winchester came over and sat down next to me. "We're going to go get breakfast, all right?"

"M' not hungry," I lifted my head slightly.

"I want you to come with us."

"Don't wanna eat."

"That's fine, but I still want you to come with," he stood up and walked away. The bathroom door opened, and I heard Dean say, "My turn," and then it closed again.

Mr. Winchester brought clothes over and set them on the cushion next to me. "You should get dressed," he told me.

I looked up at him. "Don't care," I said dully.

"Do you want help?"

"Don't touch me!" I snapped, putting my hands up.

He stepped back. "I won't touch you, it's all right," he said soothingly. He stood there for a long moment, watching me, and then walked away.

A few minutes later the bthroom door opened, and I could hear Dean talking quietly with Sam.

"We ready?"

I turned my head. They were near the door, shrugging into their coats. I got up and walked over to them. Sam held up my coat. I made no move to take it from him.

"Zan, it's really cold out today," Sam said.

"Put your coat on," Mr. Winchester said sternly, and I took it out of Sam's hands and slid my arms into the sleeves.

We drove to a diner, and were shown to a booth. It was busy and loud, with lots of families there. On one side was a family with three sullen teenagers, who looked at their phones the whole time, and on the other side was a family with a little boy and a little girl. They chattered non-stop at each other and their parents, although the girl was young enough that a lot of what she said was toddler-speak.

I heard a slight intake of breath and looked up from the menu to find Dean and Mr. Winchester staring at me.

"Did he- hit you?" Dean asked in a deep voice.

"Why?" I asked.

"Can I- can I touch your face?" he asked.

I nodded, and he took my chin and turned my face from side to side. "Did he grab you? Your chin, I mean?"

I felt myself blushing."Uh, yeah," I admitted, pulling my chin out of Dean's hand.

"I didn't notice it in the room, it was too dim," Dean said to his Dad. He looked at me. "You have a bruise on your cheek, and finger marks on your jawline."

"Where?" I put my hand up to my cheek and pressed down, moving my fingers around, until I felt pain flare up. "Oh."

"Zan, don't—doesn't that hurt?" Sam looked at me.

"Damn him," Dean muttered, "He didn't say anything about hitting her."

"It doesn't matter," I said, "Nothing happened."

"Uh, yes it does matter," Sam insisted, "He hurt you-and- and frightened you."

"He smacked my face and left bruises, big deal, I got worse from my dad. A lot worse," I scoffed.

"That doesn't mean that it didn't matter. And something did happen. Thank God Dean got there when he did, or-"

"I don't want to talk about it!" I snapped, glaring at Sam.

The waitress appeared at the table just then. "Hey there, y'all, what can I get you?"

I stared at the table while they ordered, and then felt my face get red as they all looked at me. "N-nothing for me," I muttered.

"What, hon?" the waitress leaned forward slightly.

"She'll have a bagel with cream cheese, and a glass of orange juice," Mr. Winchester said.

As the waitress walked away, I glared at him. "I said I wasn't hungry!" I snapped.

"I know, but we can bring the bagel back to the room with us for you to eat later," he replied calmly.

I stared down at the table top again.

Sam flipped his paper place mat over and said to me, "Want to play tic-tac-toe?"

"No."

"What about...writing out the digits of Pi? How far can you get? I had a friend in college who could say the first 25-"

"Leave me alone," I muttered, turning away from Sam.

I heard him sigh. We sat there awkwardly for a couple of minutes, and then they began to talk about the case they were on and the evidence. Sam and Dean disagreed about what was causing the mysterious deaths.

"I'm going to have to call Eli and tell him we're off the case anyway," Mr. Winchester said, "And we can get on the road today."

I turned to look at him. "Why are you off the case?"

He took a sip of his coffee. "Because we need to get you to Pastor Jim."

" _Why?"_ I asked angrily.

"You need—you need help, in dealing with—what happened, and I don't think we can give it to you."

"So some pastor guy is gonna help me?" I sneered, "I don't even know him, how is he gonna help?"

"He has experience with counseling people, and he's great to talk to," Mr. Winchester said.

"I'm not s'posed to talk to strangers, and anyways nobody's s'posed to know my business," I said, repeating something that my father had often said.

"He won't be a stranger after you meet him, and he's a good guy. He'll help you if you let him."

"You just wanna get rid of me!"

Mr. Winchester blinked at the vehemence in my voice. "No, that's not it at all, Zan. It is important to me that we get you taken care of. You need to talk about and—and deal with—what happened to you."

"No I don't, I just need to forget!" Tears were welling in my eyes, and I swiped at my face.

The waitress brought plates of food to the table, and everyone concentrated on eating for the next several minutes.

Dean offered me some of everything on his plate. I refused him and went back to staring at the table.

I heard the family in the next booth talking to their kids. "You all done? All right, one last bite. I'll take you to the potty and I want you to try to go," the mother got out of the booth with the little girl and they walked down a hall.

"Hey Zan, you want some of my fruit?" Sam asked, pushing his plate towards me, "There's no way I'm going to be able to eat all of this. C'mon, eat some."

I didn't respond to him.

"Have you ever had a mango? Try this," Sam held up his fork with a square of orange fruit on it.

The mother from the next booth came walking over, holding the hand of the little girl. "She used the potty!" she reported with a smile.

"There's my pretty little thing! Good job!" the father said, and the little girl grinned at him and clapped her hands.

I froze. That was what the man had said to me, 'you're such a pretty little thing'. My mouth went dry as I started to feel like I was right back there, trapped and frightened. My stomach twisted with nerves and I felt my breathing get shallow.

I turned my head and stared into the distance. I felt like I was outside of my head but also deep inside it. I could hear the sounds of the diner around me but it was as if nothing could get through. A dish fell and shattered, and I didn't jump. I could her voices speaking, but it didn't register.

"Zan," someone said to me. I didn't know who it was. "What's wrong? Zan? You in there?"

Fingers snapped in front of my face, but I couldn't focus.

"Zan," a different voice said, "Can you say something? Anything?"

"What's going on with her?" a low voice asked.

"Take her out to the car, I'll get the check," another voice responded quietly.

I felt a hand on my arm. "Zan, we're going to go out to the car, all right? I'm taking your arm." The hand pulled me out of the booth, and then an arm was around my shoulders, and I was guided outside. The wind blew my hair in my face.

"Let's get in the car," the voice said, and I was guided into the back. Hands buckled the seat belt over my lap. I heard the rumble of the car's engine.

When the car stopped, the belt was removed and I was pulled out of the car and walked to the door.

I sat down on the sofa and pulled my legs up in front of me again. I heard the sounds of Sam and Dean chatting with each other as they packed.

Mr. Winchester came into the room. "Well, Eli's angry that we have to leave, but I got in touch with Rufus and Bobby and asked if they could help. It'll only take them about a day to get here."

He came over and sat down next to me. "Zan? How are you doing?"

I didn't reply to him, just kept my head buried in my knees.

"Are you awake?" he asked softly.

I felt a hand on my shoulder and raised my head. "Don't fucking touch me!" I snapped.

"What happened in the restaurant? Something made you space out like that. What was it?" his voice was low and calm, "Talk to me."

"No."

"Was it a noise? Was it something someone said?"

I turned to him and shoved at him suddenly. "Go away!"

"It was, wasn't it? It was the family in the booth next to us. You froze up when the mother brought the little girl back to the table. Was it what the man said?"

It felt like something broke inside my chest, and I screamed, "No! It wasn't! Fuck _off!_ Go _away!_ Leave—me— _alone-"_ and then I was crying in big gasping gulps. I reached up and yanked on my hair, wanting the memories to get out of my head.

"No, no, no!" I sobbed.

I felt hands on mine, untangling them from my hair.

"Stop that," Mr. Winchester said, "I won't let you hurt yourself. Breathe. Take a deep breath. You're just remembering. It's not happening right now, you're safe now, and you can get through this. Breathe. Let it out. Let it out, it's all right, you're safe. You can say it," his voice was pitched low and gentle, and the way he said the words was somehow soothing.

He had pulled my hands out of my hair and set them in my lap, but he was holding them loosely. "I'm here to listen and I'm not going to let anything bad happen. You're safe," he repeated.

And then I opened my mouth and the words poured out of me, just as tears poured down my face. My body trembled and my shoulders shook with sobs as I talked, and then when I got to the end my stomach started to flip, and I retched.

Dean was right there with a trash can, and he held it as I threw up bile. Mr. Winchester held my hair back as I vomited. When I was finished my throat was burning. Sam handed me a box of tissues and a bottle of water. I rinsed my mouth out and spit into the trash can, and then I wiped my mouth and then my eyes.

Mr. Winchester looked at me. "You were very brave," he said, "Thank you."

"For what?" I asked hoarsely.

"Thank you for trusting us enough to talk about what happened. It wasn't your fault, and you didn't do anything wrong."

I turned to look at him. "My fault, always my fault," I whispered.

"No," Mr. Winchester shook his head, "Not your fault, not any of it. You're just a little girl who was dealt a shitty hand in life and ended up with someone who mis-treated her. You didn't deserve any of what happened before, and you didn't deserve this."

I started to cry again, lowering my head. I felt hands on my arms and Mr. Winchester was pulling me onto his lap, and I let him.

"Let it out," he said, "It's all right, you're safe now," He put his arms around me and held me as I bawled. I slid my arms around him and buried my face in his flannel, feeling it get wet against my skin as I continued to cry.

"Why?" I sobbed, "Why'd he have to do that to me?"

"I don't know, bad things...happen sometimes. And we have to find a way to deal with it and keep on living our lives," he rubbed my back soothingly, up and down.

"Why'd my dad have to be that way? I tried...I tried to do what he said an' it wasn't ever good enough, he always yelled at me after or hit me...I tried to 'member everything and do it right an' I just couldn't..." my crying was slowing, and I felt so tired now...

"He shouldn't have had you with him, you're a child, you can't be expected to hunt that way an adult can. He was in the wrong, he should have protected you, not used you on his hunts."

"Why...why couldn't it have been you?" I whispered.

"What? Why couldn't what have been me?" he looked down at me.

"Why couldn't you've been my dad...you're Papa Bear," I murmured, tightening my arms around him.

I felt him chuckle in his chest. "Oh, well, I'm not...uh, I made- mistakes with the boys, when they were young, you know-" his voice was hesitant.

I was finally relaxed, falling asleep. "Papa Bear," I repeated, burying my face in his flannel again. I slept.


	27. Shake Dreams From Your Hair

I woke up hearing screeching noises and cheesy music. I opened my eyes- I was laying on the end of the sofa with a pillow under my head and a blanket tucked around me. Dean was sitting on the sofa with his feet up on the coffee table, watching an old black and white movie where a giant beetle was fighting with a robot in a city. He had explained to me that in old movies like that they had to make the monsters out of clay miniatures and move them very slowly as they took pictures, and then when they put the pictures together it looked like they were moving.

I sat up and rubbed my face. "I thought we had to pack up and go."

Dean took a swig of beer. "You needed sleep," he said simply, "Feel better now?"

"I dunno," I felt worn out and empty.

Mr. Winchester and Sam were sitting across the room at the table. Sam's laptop was open and Mr. Winchester was writing in his journal.

"Are you hungry?" Mr. Winchester asked.

"I dunno," I said again, yawning.

"Check this out, I found this pizza place near here that's got this indoor playground, and a bunch of video games and stuff. We can go there and you can have a chance to run around before we have to get back on the road tomorrow," Sam said.

"Okay," I agreed.

Mr. Winchester's phone rang, and he answered it, and then he left the room to talk privately. Sam stood up and went into the bathroom.

I looked over at Dean, who was finishing his beer. He had a white bandage on his knuckles.

"What happened to your hand?" I asked.

He leaned forward and set the bottle on the coffee table. "Oh...well...I, uh, split my knuckle when I was, uh...dealing with...that guy," he seemed a little uncomfortable.

I realized that he had saved me, and he had defended me from that man. He had rescued me from the woods, and he had saved me from anything worse happening yesterday. Something welled up in me, and I realized what the feeling was.

I crawled out of the blankets and over to him, and leaned on his chest, putting my arms around him.

"Zan? What's-?" he asked.

"You—you saved me," I said quietly, "You saved me from the Wendigo and you carried me out of the woods, you saved me yesterday...I—I love you, Dean," I whispered, glancing up at him shyly.

His face got red for a moment, and then he smiled. "Oh, well, I, uh, I—right back atcha, kiddo," he said, hugging me.

I snuggled my head into his chest. "Thank you," I whispered.

"You're welcome," he replied. We sat there for a moment, and then he patted my back. "You should get dressed, you're still in your pajamas."

"Oh...yeah..." I got up and shuffled over to my duffle.

Sam came out of the bathroom and started to shut his laptop down as I got dressed.

I went to the bathroom and looked at my face in the mirror as I washed my hands. There was a purple bruise on my cheekbone, and dark red oval marks on each side of my lower jaw, two on one side and one on the other.

When I came out of the bathroom, Mr. Winchester was back in the room. "We ready?" he asked, looking at me.

"Just need to put my shoes on," I said, and went to pull them on.

The restaurant was huge, filled with people, and loud. We waited in a line at the entrance. Mr. Winchester pulled out a credit card to pay, but it got declined. I saw him glance at Dean.

"It's no problem, I've got cash," he thumbed through his wallet and pulled out some bills.

"Hey, they've got beer here, let's get some," Dean pointed at the menu on the wall, "It's so freakin' loud in here, I guess that's the only way they could lure the parents in, with the promise of beer."

After the bill had been paid, we walked over to find a table. The restaurant had a pizza buffet, so we got plates and picked which kinds we wanted.

Dean took the receipt over to the drink counter and got a pitcher of beer, and took it to the table.

We sat down in the restaurant area, which was right across from the big open area that had all kinds of arcade games and video games. There was a room next to it that had a play area with climbing structures and slides.

Sam looked uncomfortable.

"Whatsa matter, Sammy?" Dean asked.

"It's kinda like Plucky's," Sam glanced around.

"Don't worry, I don't think there's any clowns here," Dean said with a little smirk, "When we were younger I used to take Sam to this arcade called 'Plucky Pennywhistle's', and their mascot was a clown. Sammy didn't like it one bit," he told me.

"I didn't like it because you went off and left me alone while you found some girl to make out with in a corner," Sam retorted.

"You left your brother alone?" Mr. Winchester asked sternly, giving Dean a look.

"Well, uh, only, only sometimes," Dean stammered, "Sammy knew where to find me!"

Mr. Winchester shook his head. "You and your teenage hormones. Thank God you never knocked anyone up."

"That we know of," Sam said with a smirk of his own, and Dean punched his arm.

There were a couple of birthday parties happening over at other tables, and kids of all ages running around.

A little boy came up to the table, pointing at our pizzas.

"Me want some!" he exclaimed. He was wearing a harness across his chest attached to a little backpack shaped like a monkey, and the tail was a long leash that his mother had looped around her wrist.

"That's not our table, c'mon, Andy," she said, looking embarrassed. "Sorry," she said to us, pulling him away.

"That's okay," Mr. Winchester smiled at her, "You know, we talked about getting one of those leashes for you, Dean, when you were that age," he said, looking at Dean, "You were constantly in motion and always running off."

"Mom actually wanted to get one of those things?" Dean asked.

"Yeah, she worried about you getting lost, especially after she got pregnant with Sammy and couldn't chase after you as well. You were a fast little guy. And you know, I should've gotten you one and just kept you on it until you were out of high school," Mr. Winchester grinned at Dean.

Sam laughed, and Dean looked embarrassed. "Hey, I couldn't help it that all the girls loved me."

Sam rolled his eyes. "You keep thinking that, mister walking hormones."

"I was a healthy, red-blooded teenager," Dean protested, "Not like you, who spent all your time with your nose buried in a book, ya big nerd!" he said to Sam.

"I would have liked it if you spent more time on your schooling and less time catting around, Dean," Mr. Winchester said.

"Yeah, well, I got my GED, so it's all good." Dean finished his beer, "Want to get another pitcher?" he stood up and picked up the empty pitcher.

Mr. Winchester looked at me. "It's good to see you eating, Zan," he smiled at me.

I had eaten a whole slice of pizza and started on a second one.

"Do you want to go over to the play area after we eat?" Sam asked.

I turned in my seat and looked over. "Uhh...no, not really. Too much...up high stuff." I couldn't imagine climbing up to the top of the wall, or going in the tubes and nets that were close to the ceiling.

"Oh, right. Sorry, I forgot about that," Sam said, "If you want to try the climbing wall I'll help you, I'll be right there with you to catch you."

I shook my head. "No thanks."

Dean sat down and set a full pitcher of beer down, and a dish of breadsticks. "They made too many, so the cashier gave 'em to me," he grinned.

"Can you ever _not_ flirt?" Sam rolled his eyes.

"Hey, these good looks get you free food, so stop complaining," Dean said proudly.

"As long as it's flirting and doesn't go any further," Mr. Winchester filled his glass.

"Well, she _did_ try to give me her number..." Dean grinned, and Mr. Winchester and Sam both shook their heads and rolled their eyes.

I looked at all three of them as they grinned at each other, and realized that I felt calm, and relaxed. I wasn't tensed up, waiting to be scolded or yelled at or hit. Things were different with them, and they weren't like my father. Maybe this was the way it was supposed to be. I felt happy, but there was sadness mixed in with it.

"What is it, Zan?" Mr. Winchester asked, looking at me concernedly.

"Well I uh...thanks for, y'know, taking care of me and all," I said awkwardly, "You coulda just dropped me off somewhere, y'know."

"We wouldn't have done that," Sam said.

"Even though most of us hunt alone, we don't turn our back on each other, and we do help each other out," Mr. Winchester said, "Taking you in was the right thing to do."

"And I'm glad we took you in, you're a good kid," Dean put his hand on my back and smiled at me.

I felt myself blushing.

"Have you ever played any video games, Zan?" he asked me.

"I played a racing game with Ash at- at the Roadhouse."

"Well c'mon, I'll show you how it's done," Dean stood up. I followed him over to where the arcade and games area was. He showed me how to play different games where you were a spaceship shooting at aliens, or a little frog trying to hop across a busy street without getting run over. I wsn't good at any of them, but when Dean found a racing game, I beat him every time except one.

Sam tapped on my shoulder. "You guys about done? Dad wants to go."

Dean finished his turn, and then we walked back to the table.

"Man, Zan's pretty good at driving in a game, maybe we should see how she does in real life," Dean slung his arm over my shoulders.

"I don't think so, that's not exactly safe," Mr. Winchester stood up and gathered the trash from the table.

"What, I learned how when I was 12, only two years older than her!" Dean insisted.

"That was out of necessity, in case you had to drive me if I got injured," Mr. Winchester gave him a look, "and we're _not_ teaching her how to drive."

When we got back to the room, Sam said to me, "It should be okay to take your stitches out, Zan."

"Uh—take them out?" I asked nervously.

"Yeah, I'll just snip them and pull them out, it doesn't hurt at all. I promise," Sam smiled at me, "Is that okay?"

"I guess," I said doubtfully.

"Come sit down here," Sam patted the back of the chair. I walked over and sat down. Sam went out to the car and returned carrying the first aid duffle. He washed his hands at the sink, then came over to me holding the duffle.

Dean walked over and sat next to me. "Want to hold my hands?" he asked.

I nodded, and he took my hands and held them. "Squeeze if you feel uncomfortable."

"I'm going to wipe the sutures with an alcohol wipe to clean them, it'll be cold," Sam told me. I felt him rubbing my head, and shivered- it was cold.

"Okay, you'll feel a slight pull," Sam said, "Right...now...okay, two down, one more...okay, done."

I felt a pulling in my scalp and gasped slightly.

"There," Sam said, "It's done. Good job!"

Dean squeezed my hand. "You did it, all done," he smiled at me.

"Now you can wash your hair. Maybe you can figure out how to style it to hide that area until more hair grows in. Your hair grows fast, there's already a little bit of growth."

"I don't know nothin' about styling hair," I said, "My Dad kept it short a lot."

"What do you mean?" I saw Dean glance at Sam.

I cringed a little bit, embarrassed at the memory. "When I was in kindergarten, I...got lice, and Iz got 'em too. Dad was really pissed off, and he...he cut our hair real short. Mom was working at her job, so she wasn't there. Iz didn't understand, and she got _real_ upset. Dad had a knife that he was using for me, and it hurt 'cause he was pulling a lot."

Dean leaned forward. "Your Dad cut your hair with a _knife?_ Geez."

"Yeah, and then when he tried to do Iz, she flipped out. She didn't like people messing with her hair anyways... he hadda kindof sit on her to keep her still and she was screamin' so loud that the manager came and banged on the door sayin' he got a noise complaint. Dad stopped cutting her hair, but he smacked her, and then me. Then he left for a little while...and when he came back he had a electric razor an' he cut my hair real short."

"Like, a buzz cut with an electric razor?" Sam asked.

"Yeah, like a boy's. Then he started to do Iz...he hadda hold her down again...Mom came home while he was doin' it, and Iz was cryin' an' screamin' again. She bit Dad, and he started smacking her, and Mom was yelling at him. He had to finish Iz because it would've looked weird if he hadn't at that point...and then Mom and him had a huge argument. She made him go out to the car, and they were out there for a long time."

I saw Sam and Dean look at each other.

"Iz was cryin' so hard I couldn't hardly get her to stop. When Mom came in she held us and finally Iz did calm down an' stop, but it took a long time. Then later Mom washed our hair with the special shampoo that Dad had got. He was gone for two days, I think she told him to leave for a while."

"I'd have told him to get lost and-and stay there," Dean said.

"Geez, Zan, that's...I'm really sorry that happened," Sam said quietly.

I shrugged. "It was my fault for bringin' the lice home."

"No, it wasn't your _fault_. Getting lice doesn't have anything to do with anyone's fault," Sam's voice was bitter, "It's not something you did on purpose, you know? Kids pass it around without even knowing."

Dean looked at me. "Well, your hair grew out nice."

I stared at the table. "After Mom an' Iz...Dad kinda stopped payin' attention to that kindsa stuff with me, and didn't cut my hair no more."

"It's brown, but there's like blonde highlights that shine in the sun," Dean said, touching the end of a strand of my hair, "It's pretty."

I felt uncomfortable. "Nah, Iz had the pretty hair. She had all these blonde ringlets, and people would always stop us where-ever we went and tell Mom how beautiful Iz was. A lot of people said she looked like a old-fashioned doll. She really did, she had the curls, and big blue eyes, and these chubby cheeks- she was real pretty. People said she should do modeling an' stuff."

Mr. Winchester had come out of the bathroom and had come over to stand near us, and been listening. "You're pretty too," he said.

I felt myself blushing. "No, m'not," I didn't know what else to say.

Dean leaned forward and started to go through the first aid duffle. "I should change the bandage on my hand," he said.

"Uh, what...what did-what exactly happened?" I asked.

I saw Dean look at his Dad, and they did the 'talking without words' thing that he and Sam did sometimes.

Dean looked at me. "Dad and I had a... _discussion_ with the guy about how wrong what he did was. We discovered that he had...photos and videos on his cell phone of... other girls and women. So after we were... done with him, we tied him up and took him over to the police station, marched his ass right up to the front counter and started playing one of the videos, handed the phone to the officer at the front desk," Dean sat back, "And the guy...might have had the word 'rapist' written all over his face in marker."

"'Might have'?" Sam asked with humor in his voice.

"What do you mean?" I asked, not understanding.

Dean reached into his pocket and pulled out a permanent marker, one of the ones that smelled really strong and took forever to wear off if you got it on your skin.

I realized what he meant. "Oh, you mean _you-"_ I said.

Dean nodded grimly.

"Thanks," I said softly.

"Zan, you should get ready for bed," Mr. Winchester said.

I looked up at him. "I don't—I don't wanna go to bed. I mean I—I don't wanna sleep in a bed...right now."

He nodded. "You can sleep on the sofa, that's fine."

I got up and went over to my duffle to get my pajamas.

Sam came over to the bed. "I'll get you set up on the couch," he took a pillow and blanket off of the bed and carried them over.

After I came out of the bathroom, I walked over to the table, where Sam had his laptop open. He and Dean were watching a video on it. Sam paused it and turned to look at me.

"Uh, m' goin' to bed," I said, feeling shy all of a sudden.

Sam reached for me. "Can I give you a hug?" he asked quietly. I stepped into his arms and he hugged me. "Good night."

"Night," I said, "Thanks for takin' out my stitches."

Sam let me go and I turned to Dean, who was watching me. I went to him and he hugged me, and I rested my head on his shoulder for a moment.

When he let me go, he was still looking at me.

"What?" I asked.

"You don't flinch any more," he said, getting a little smile on his face, "When you first came with us, you flinched any time anyone reached out to you or moved towards you. You don't do that most of the time now."

"Oh."

"That's a good thing," Sam smiled at me too.

I walked over to the sofa as Mr. Winchester came over at the same time. He had been sorting through clothes in his duffle.

I sat down on the sofa and he reached down and picked up the blanket, then laid it over me and tucked it around my body.

"You come talk to us if you need to, any one of us," he leaned down and hugged me.

I hugged him back, holding on to his flannel.

"Good night, Zan," he said quietly. He let me go, and then cupped his hand around my cheek as he stood up. I laid down and he adjusted the blanket around my shoulders.

In the morning I woke up next to Sam. I had woken up crying in the middle of the night, and Dean had stumbled over to the sofa, picked me up, and deposited me on the bed between him and Sam. I had fallen back to sleep curled against his side.

I sat up, rubbing my face. The door to the motel room opened, and Dean came in, carrying fast-food bags and a drink carrier.

"Rise and shine, Sammy!" he said cheerfully.

Sam and Mr. Winchester opened their eyes and started to move around.

"Zan, I've got a surprise for you," Dean said excitedly.

"Huh?" I asked.

"Well, the outside intercom at the McDonald's was having issues, so I went inside to order. While I was in line, I started talking to this chick- shut up, Sammy-" Dean said in response to Sam's eye roll and scoff, "-Turns out she's a hair stylist at the salon a couple doors down from the place. I got to tellin' here about you, told her that you'd had a rough time lately, that we'd, y'know, taken you in and all, and she agreed to give you a haircut for free!"

"What?" I was confused, "Why would I need a haircut?"

"I dunno, I just thought it'd be nice, y'know, maybe she could do something to style your hair and cover the place where the scar is."

"Uh, I don't-" I said nervously.

"What?" Sam asked.

"I—I never got my hair cut in a place before, is she gonna cut it all off?" I asked worriedly, "How—how does she know what to do? What if I don't want her to cut it all off?"

"No, it's great, you go in and they wash your hair and massage your scalp, it feels really good, and then you tell 'em what you want, and they cut your hair, dry it, and style it. You're in control of everything," Dean explained.

"You—you are?"

"If you don't want to do it, you don't have to," Mr. Winchester told me.

"I—I just never had it done before, my mom always cut my hair when I was little."

"I'll stay with you, I'll be right there," Dean said confidently.

"O-okay, I guess," I said.

"Zan, if you don't want to-" Mr. Winchester said again.

"I'll try it," I got out of the bed and walked over to my duffle to get some clothes out.

Mr. Winchester got out of the other bed. "We'll pack up and get ready to go, check out here is 10:30. If you're not back, we'll go to the McDonald's and wait for you."

"All right," Dean agreed.

The hair salon was warm and loud, with music playing, the sound of hair dryers, and talking. Dean walked up to the front desk and said, "Could you tell Brandy that Dean is here?"

The receptionist got up and walked into the back part of the salon, and then came back in a minute, followed by a thin girl with long wavy blonde hair.

"Hey, Dean," she smiled at him, and he leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek.

"You're Zan?" she asked me, "I'm Brandy. Come with me."

I started to follow her down a short hallway, turning to check that Dean was behind me. He was, and I reached out to grab his hand.

"All right, sit down here," she pointed to a chair, "Lean back—hold on, we need to get a booster," she said. She walked over to another chair and picked up what looked like a foam block.

"Get up for a sec," she said, and I stood up. She set the block down, and then said, "Now you can sit down, and lean back."

I sat down on the block, and then leaned backwards in the chair. She placed a folded towel behind my neck and moved my head into a ridged part of the seat.

"Relax and lean back, it's okay," she told me with a smile. I heard water rushing, and she said, "Tell me if this is too hot." I felt my head getting wet. She wet my hair down, and then picked up a bottle and put some shampoo in my hair. She applied it to my hair, and began rubbing my scalp.

"You doing okay?" Dean asked me.

"Yeah," I replied. He was right, it did feel good to have someone rubbing your scalp. I closed my eyes and let myself enjoy it-it was relaxing.

She rinsed my hair and then said she was putting conditioner on it, and then she rinsed that off too. The she sat me up and dried my hair off.

"All right, come over here," she said.

I sat in a chair that was in front of a big mirror, and she put a long cover over me and fastened it behind my neck. Then she started to comb out my hair.

"You just want a trim, or you looking for a whole new look, or what?"

"I dunno," I said, "I never did this before."

She looked at me in the mirror. "What do you mean, you've never been to a salon before?"

I shook my head.

"Well, okay, is there anything you'd like to do?"

I shrugged.

"Well, let me look at you," she began to comb my hair again, parting it one way and then another, and she'd look in the mirror and turn my head from side to side.

"I see where you've got the scar," she said, "I can trim some bangs in the front, and that'll cover it over while the hair's growing out. How does that sound?"

"Uh—what are bangs?" I asked hesitantly.

"Oh, you know, the fringe in the front, on your forehead. You ever have them before?"

"Yeah, when I was little, my mom used to cut my hair and she gave me some for a while."

"You want to try that?" she asked.

"O—okay," I agreed.

"And I'll trim the rest and kinda shape it, it's uneven in the back here. All righty?"

I nodded. She began to comb and pin up sections of the back of my hair while chatting with Dean. I closed my eyes again and listened to all the noise.

After she trimmed the back, she turned the chair and cut the front of my hair. It made me a little nervous to have scissors so close to my face, but I didn't say anything. Then she picked up a blow dryer and dried my hair.

"Okay, you ready?" she asked.

I nodded, and she turned the chair around. I gaped at myself- I looked different. My hair was at my shoulders and it curled under slightly, and the fringe of bangs was also slightly curled.

"You've got real thick hair, so I layered it slightly at the bottom, so that it will curl under by itself, but if you want to help it with a round brush when you're drying it, you can. What do you think? Do you like it?"

"Yeah, I do," I said with awe.

"It looks great, kiddo," Dean said happily, smiling at me in the mirror.

"Thanks," I said.

"No problem," she said, smiling at Dean. He stepped up to her and whispered something in her ear, and then he put his arms around her, and they kissed like people do in the movies. As they stepped back from each other, Dean pulled something out of his pocket and handed it to her.

"See you around, sweetheart," he winked at her, "Thanks a lot."

"Thank you, Dean," she said, grinning at him.

I held his hand as we walked across the lot to the McDonald's.

"Why'd you kiss her like that?" I looked up at Dean.

He seemed very satisfied. "Oh, well she and I really hit it off, and we were...talking before, so I...just wanted to let her know how much I appreciated her. And what she did for you."

"Oh."

"I take it you don't approve?" he asked teasingly.

"No,well uh- kissing like that is just-" I shuddered, and he laughed. He opened the door for me, and we walked into the building.

Sam and Mr. Winchester were at a small table in the corner, Sam on his laptop and Mr. Winchester reading a newspaper. They both looked up as we approached, and they both smiled.

"Zan, you look really cute," Sam told me.

"Let me see," Mr. Winchester said, and I turned towards him. "It looks great, do you like it?"

"Yeah," I said shyly, "Thanks."

"That was a great idea, Dean," Mr. Winchester said, standing up, "Let's get moving."

It seemed hot in the back of the car, and like there was no air moving around. The sun was shining in the window, so I leaned forward and asked, "Uh, can I-can I unbuckle and move to the other side? I'm hot."

Dean glanced back at me. "Sure, kiddo," he said. His face looked red.

I looked out the window at the cars going by, and for some reason it made me feel dizzy. I started to feel funny, like there was pressure in my stomach, and then I burped and a sour taste came up into my mouth.

"Hey, Dean?" Sam said suddenly, "Dean? You okay? You don't look so good."

"Yeah, Sam, I'm good, I just-" Dean rubbed his stomach, "Got a sour stomach is all. Grab me some Tums out of the glovebox, willya?"

"Sure," Sam leaned forward, took out a small vial, and handed Dean a couple of flat pills.

I had to turn my head and not look out the window because I was feeling worse. I was dizzy now, and my whole body felt hot and sweaty.

All of a sudden the car was swerving to the side, and Dean pulled over onto the shoulder.

"Dude, what's up?" Sam asked with concern, "Are you okay? What's-"

Dean opened his door and leaned out, and then he threw up.

Listening to him made my stomach twist, and then do a slow flip, and then I was scrambling to undo my seatbelt and I grabbed the door handle and shoved the door open, leaning out of the car just in time, as I began to throw up too.


	28. Before I Sink Into the Big Sleep

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: I wrote most of this a few weeks ago, and I've been wanting to update Zan's story for a while, so here's what I have for now.**

 **CONTENT WARNING: description of vomiting.**

~ ~ spn ~ ~ spn ~ ~ spn ~ ~

"Oh geez!" I heard Sam saying, "what th—Dean? DEAN!" he shouted, and I looked over to see Sam diving over to the driver's side of the seat, and then he pulled Dean up.

Dean groaned and slumped back.

Sam got out of the car and hurried around to the driver's side. "Move over, Dean," he said, shaking Dean's shoulder, "C'mon, man, wake up and scoot over a little."

"Huh?" Dean startled, and tried to sit up.

"No, don't sit up, move, so I can drive."

"M'okay, Sammy, I c'n-"

"No, Dean, move it!" Sam pushed Dean's shoulder. Dean finally moved over to the passenger side, and Sam got into the car. He turned to me. "Are you okay?" he asked, his hazel eyes looking me over with concern.

"Cold," I shivered, even though I'd been hot when I had started throwing up.

"Damn," Sam muttered. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed a number. "Hey, Dad, we've got a problem. Dean and Zan are both sick. I mean, puking sick. Yeah, I don't know...we need to find a place and stop. Where are you now? Okay...The Willow Tree Motel? Yeah, I'll find it, we're like an exit or two behind you. Okay, see you."

The phone beeped. "Dean?" Sam asked quietly, "you gonna be okay if I drive, or do you feel like you need to puke some more?"

"M'okay," Dean slurred.

Sam looked back at me. "Zan? How are you?"

"M'okay for n-now," I shivered.

"I'll turn the heat up," he told me.

I woke up when the car door slammed. I looked out, and saw Sam standing next to the car with Mr. Winchester. Sam pulled out his wallet and started to go through it, and then he walked into the building we were parked in front of.

The front door opened and Mr. Winchester leaned in. He saw that I was awake. "How you holdin' up?" he asked.

"I'm cold," I said, and my voice was a whine.

"Well, after we get the payment squared away we'll get you all tucked into bed," he reached over and touched Dean's shoulder, "Dean?"

"M' up, Dad, jus' gimme a minute," Dean rubbed his face with his hand, "Sammy awake yet?"

Mr. Winchester shook his head. "Just relax, son," he said. Sam came out of the building with keys in his hand.

Mr. Winchester got out of the car, and they talked for a moment. Then Sam got in, and drove around to a long row of rooms.

"Hey, Dean? Dean, we're here, wake up so we can get you into the room," Sam said.

The back door of the car opened, and I whimpered as cold air flowed in.

"Sam, go and unlock the door, I'll bring her in, and then we can bring Dean in," Mr. Winchester intructed.

Sam got out of the car, and Mr. Winchester reached in and picked me up, carrying me into the room. Sam had walked ahead of us, and he pulled the covers down on one of the beds, and then walked over to the closet.

Mr. Winchester laid me down on the bed and took my shoes off, then he unzipped and removed my coat. He pulled the covers up over me, and walked away, and was back in a moment with a trash can.

"It's right here by the side of the bed if you need it," he told me.

I dozed as I heard them bringing Dean in and getting him settled in the other bed. Sam got the trash can from the bathroom and set it next to Dean's side of the bed while Mr. Winchester brought in some of the duffles.

I felt a hand on my forehead and jerked away, waking up. Mr. Winchester was standing by the side of the bed. "I want to check your temperature," he told me, holding up a digital thermometer. I opened my mouth, and he placed it under my tongue.

"You said she threw up too?" he asked Sam, who nodded.

"She asked to move over to the other side of the car because she said she was hot, but then after she threw up she said she was cold," Sam told him.

The thermometer beeped and Mr. Winchester pulled it out of my mouth and looked at it. "It's 101. Zan, how are you feeling? Did your stomach start to feel bad before you threw up, or was it sudden?"

"I...I felt kinda...yucky earlier when I was eating breakfast, my tummy didn't feel right, an' then in the car, watchin' the road was makin' me dizzy. My tummy started to feel...like it had pressure in it, and I burped and it tasted gross. And then when Dean—when he started, it made my tummy feel worse, an' I threw up. Then I felt real dizzy after that, an' cold."

He nodded. "You and Dean both had pizza with sausage on it, didn't you?"

"Uh, yeah, I had a piece with sausage an' pepperoni an' then half a slice of cheese," I said.

"Dean had a couple slices of the sausage and pepperoni. What are you thinking?" Sam asked.

"Probably food poisoning," Mr. Winchester said, "we're just going to have to stay here and ride it out until they're better."

Sam sighed. "Okay...what are we going to need?"

"Probably soup, Gatorade or something similar, to make sure they don't get dehydrated. Do we have enough Children's Ibuprofen left?"

"I'll check," Sam walked away.

From the other bed, Dean groaned, and then leaned over and started to throw up again. Mr. Winchester hurried over to him, and held the trash can up for him.

"We're going to have to go to the front office and probably ask for more trash can liners and possibly more towels," he said.

"You want me to do that?" Sam asked.

"Yeah, and ask for some extra blankets too," Mr. Winchester said.

"Ohhhh God," Dean groaned, "My stomach-" and then he started to throw up again.

"I know, buddy, it's all right," Mr. Winchester said reassuringly.

Suddenly the smell hit me, and my stomach clenched up, and then I could feel something coming up my throat—I sat up and leaned over, and began to throw up.

Then Mr. Winchester ws next to me, and he picked up the trash can and held it in front of me.

"I—I threw up on the side of it, I'm sorry-" I blurted between heaves.

"It's all right, I'll get it. You're okay," Mr. Winchester said soothingly.

When I was finished, I laid back down. He picked up both trash cans and took them into the bathroom, and I heard the water running. When he came back out he had two wash cloths, and he handed me one.

"What's this for?"

"Wipe your face, might make you feel better, and wipe your mouth," he said, going over to Dean.

"Dean? Hey, I want to check your temp. Open up for me, champ," Mr. Winchester's voice was gentle.

"What is it?" Dean rasped, after I heard the electronic beeping.

"It's 101.9," his Dad told him.

"What d'you think this is, Dad?"

"Food poisoning. You and Zan were the ones who had sausage and pepperoni pizza."

"Ohhhh don't talk about that," Dean moaned, "Dammit."

"It's all right, we'll stay here until it's out of your systems."

The door opened and Sam walked in carrying a stack of bedding.

"Got some more trash can liners and an extra set of towels. Two blankets was all they'd give me. The manager wasn't too happy, said if there was vomit on the rugs or anything they'd charge us extra."

Mr. Winchester made a 'hmph' noise, and took a blanket from Sam. He spread it over Dean, and Sam came over to me and placed the other blanket over me.

"How you feeling?" he asked me.

"They both threw up again," Mr. Winchester reported, "If you're okay here, I'm going to go out and get some supplies."

"Do you need some cash?" Sam asked.

"No, I should have enough." Mr. Winchester took his keys out, and then he left.

I drifted off to sleep, waking up when Dean started to throw up again. Then I dreamed about the Black Dog, and I woke up with a loud cry.

Sam was next to the bed. "Zan, you're okay, you're safe," he said calmly. He placed his palm on my forehead, and frowned. He reached over and got the thermometer, and said, "Open," to me.

When it beeped, he took it out of my mouth and looked at it, and frowned again. "It's higher," he said, "How are you feeling?"

"I—I feel all achy," I whimpered. He put his hand on my shoulder. "You're drenched in sweat," he said. He put his hand on the sheets.

I started to shiver again. "M' cold too."

"Let me check-" he walked over to the closet and looked inside. Then he walked over to the phone and dialed.

"Yes, I was wondering if I could get another set of sheets. Room 304. Yes, I did...no, no-one threw up on the sheets, my- sister has a high fever and the sheets are all sweaty. Look, I'll wash them myself if you want me to—why is this such a big deal?" Sam's voice was irritated. He huffed as he hung up the phone.

The door opened, and Mr. Winchester came in on a gust of cold air.

"How are things going?" he asked, walking over to the table. I heard the crackling of a plastic bag and the sounds of him setting things out.

"Well, Zan's fever is up, and her sheets are damp with sweat, and that idiot manager gave me crap about wanting an extra set of sheets. I even told him I'd wash them."

I propped myself up on my elbow and looked over at them. "M'okay, I don't- need more sheets."

Mr. Winchester looked angry. "No, it's not good for you to be laying in sheets that are damp when you're sick. The motel should be supplying us with whatever we need. I'll go talk to the guy," he said, and his voice sounded forbidding. He left the room.

Sam came back over to me and chuckled.

"What?" I asked.

"Well, I think the manager is in for a 'John Winchester Verbal Beat-Down'," he shook his head, "He's not gonna know what hit him. When Dad gets pissed like that his military training comes out, and he lets you have it."

I looked up at him. "You-you said I was your—your sister," I said shyly.

He smiled at me. "Yeah, I figured it was easier to say that than go into a while explanation of, y'know, we took this girl in and she's traveling with us."

"That was- nice of you."

"Well you know, you're just about an honorary Winchester anyway now. Hey, let's get you into some dry clothes, okay?"

He went over to my duffle, and brought over my plaid flannel pajamas. I got out of bed, moving slowly. Everything hurt, my joints ached and my stomach muscles were sore. Sam helped me undress and then put my pajamas on.

Mr. Winchester came back in with another stack of bedding. "I got an extra set for both beds," he said with satisfation.

I sat down on the end of Dean's bed as he pulled the blankets off of the bed and began to remove the sheets.

"I c'n do that," I said.

"I've got it," he said, "Do you feel like eating or drinking? I got soup, and Gatorade."

"Uh-uh," I shook my head.

"I'd like you to at least try and drink something. I don't want you becoming dehydrated."

Sam brought a bottle of Gatorade over to me, twisting the top off. I took it from him and took a small sip. Suddenly, I felt thirsty, and I started to drink more.

"Hey, slow down," Sam said after a moment, "Not so fast," he tried to pull the bottle away from me and I resisted.

"M' thirsty," I said.

"Drink slower," Mr. Winchester stood next to me, "You don't need to throw up again from drinking too fast."

I took a couple more swallows, and then he took the bottle out of my hand. "Back in bed now," he said.

I laid down in bed again, and he leaned over and pulled the covers up. I felt tired now, and I turned onto my side and started to drift off to sleep.

I woke up hearing Dean throwing up again, and listened to Sam and Mr. Winchester talking to him as they helped him change his clothes and put clean sheets on the bed. After they got him settled again, I fell back to sleep.

I startled awake late at night, hearing a shout. "I got you, Sammy, I got you, baby bro," Dean said, gasping. I sat up and looked over- Dean was tangled in the bed sheets, and I could see that his t-shirt was wet with sweat. His forehead and neck were beaded with sweat too. Sam stood by the bed, trying to help untangle the sheets.

Mr. Winchester came out of the bathroom carrying some towels. He walked over to the bed and began to wipe Dean's face off with a wet washcloth.

"It's so hot," Dean whimpered, and his voice sounded very young, "the fire's so hot."

"All right, shh," Mr. Winchester said, "You're all right, you're safe."

"Dad!" Dean cried out, looking up at him, "Where's Mom? What's wrong? Where'd she go?" He grabbed onto Mr. Winchester's arm.

"Shh, Dean, shh, it's okay, buddy," Mr. Winchester said soothingly. He looked over at Sam. "Let's get him in the shower, this isn't working."

"What's wrong with Dean?" I exclaimed.

"His fever's really high, and he's delerious," Sam said over his shoulder. I watched as they got Dean up out of bed, and then took him into the bathroom. I could hear the shower running, and Dean would say something in a high-pitched voice every once in a while. Sam came out of the bathroom and walked over to the duffles, getting clothes out and taking them into the bathroom. He came out again and changed the sheets on Dean's bed, and then went back to the bathroom. They brought Dean out, and put him back to bed. Mr. Winchester sat on the edge of his bed talking quietly for a while, until he fell asleep.


	29. The Scream of the Butterfly

_The bark of the tree was rough against my arms and back and there were roots and stones poking into my butt. I tried to move my arms, rubbing the ropes against the scratchy bark, but all it did was make the bare skin on my forearms sting._

 _Dad had told me to try and fight my way out of the ropes. He had tied me to a tree, and I had to try and figure out how to get away. I was sitting down and my legs were tied together too._

 _It was hot, and the air was heavy with humidity. I could feel sweat beading in my hairline and feel it dripping down my neck and stomach. I was thirsty and tired and I had to pee. I didn't want to do this, but he had said I had to. I had to practice in case I got taken by something._

 _I heard footsteps in the forest and looked up, panicking. Dad was walking towards me. He leaned over and looked behind me, and then slapped the side of my head. "You ain't even tryin'!" he snapped._

" _Dad, p—please!" I burst out before I could stop myself. The harsh slap rocked my head to the side and my cheek began to sting. I couldn't help it, tears came to my eyes and began to drip down my face._

" _You lazy little bitch! You wanna cry, I'll give you somethin' to cry about!" he grabbed my hair and slammed my head back into the tree trunk. I cried out and closed my eyes, expecting another blow._

 _I heard a metallic sound, and opened my eyes. Dad had his knife out, and he leaned over again, and then I felt a white-hot pain in my arm._

 _I cried out again, and he moved around and grabbed my throat. "Now shut—the fuck—UP," his breath was hot on my face, and smelled like whiskey and rotting meat. He pulled a bandana out of a pocket and shoved part of it in my mouth, tying it around the back of my head._

 _I was panting, feeling scared, wanting to beg him to let me go as he walked away._

 _I tried to get out of the ropes again, wracking my brain to remember what he had told me before. I couldn't remember anything. I was so fucking stupid, no wonder he got angry with me all the time._

 _I could feel liquid dripping down my arm. He had cut me, and I didn't know why. I tried to calm down, slow my breathing. My nose was getting plugged up from crying and it was hard to breathe, and it didn't help, having a cloth stuffed in your mouth._

 _And then I figured out what he was doing. I heard movement in the underbrush, branches snapping, and snuffling, and saw something lumbering towards me._

 _I didn't know what it was- some kind of weird mix of creatures. It was huge and had a snout like a pig, but it had longer legs than a pig. The skin was a dark grayish brown and it had dark patches of scruffy fur on parts of its body, and stubs on its head that could be the start of antlers. It moved like a dog, sniffing along the ground, but it grunted like a pig. It came over to me, and I could smell it suddenly- a sharp, tangy musk that made my eyes water._

 _The creature came up to me and snuffled at my feet, and I stayed still, terrified that if I moved it would attack me. Then it moved up and sniffed my legs. It moved over and sniffed the ground next to me, grinding its teeth, and I felt its sharp whiskers on my arm. And then, oh geez, I felt it- and heard it- it was licking me, it was licking the blood off of my arm, what if it bit me next-_

 _I tried to push the rising panic down, tried not to start squirming, but I couldn't help the sounds that were coming out of my throat._

 _I heard the sound of something slicing through the air, and suddenly an arrow was sticking out of the shoulder of the creature. It reared its head up and gave a loud squeal, and then my dad was there with a huge knife, and he started hacking at the creature. I closed my eyes as the blood began to spatter across my body- Dad cut the ropes and grabbed my shoulders, shaking me- "You stupid bitch, you almost fucked things up again!"_

 _I tried not to cry, but I couldn't help it, I screamed, and his hand came at me-_

"ZAN!" I felt hands on my shoulders, giving me a shake, "Zan, wake up!"

I opened my eyes. Mr. Winchester was standing above me, holding my shoulders, and Sam was hovering next to him. They both looked worried.

"You awake?" Mr. Winchester asked me.

I nodded and opened my mouth to say something, and instead I burst into tears.

He sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled me to him, holding me against his chest.

I slid my arms around him and clung to his flannel as I cried.

"You were having a nightmare, it's okay, you're safe now," he murmured to me, rubbing my back.

"He—he tied me up, said I hadda get outta the ropes, I was tied to a tree, hadda practice the ropes, but he—he- it was so he could lure a creature out, he—he cut my arm an' it bled, and the—the m-monster came up to me, an', an' it- it was licking the blood off my arm, and I was so—scared-" I was shuddering as I talked.

"Shh, shh, take a deep breath, you're going to make yourself sick."

"Then—he-shot it—with a- a-arrow an' I felt- it- go right past—my head- he k-killed it an' the—blood-went-ev-everywhere-"

"All right, all right...shh, it's just a memory, you're safe now...shh..." Mr. Winchester soothed me.

"I—f-fucked up again, he was m-mad, he, he smacked me—I can't d-do nothin' right—I'm j-just a f-fuck—up-" my chest hitched with sobs.

His voice was quiet as he smoothed the hair on the back of my head. "No, no, you're not a fuck up...you're a little girl who doesn't know how to hunt...he shouldn't have had you there with him...shh, it's all right, you're all right, sweetheart."

I leaned into his chest as I calmed down, and sighed. He placed his palm on my forehead for a moment.

"Your fever's down for the moment, that's good. Do you feel like drinking something?"

"O—okay," I agreed.

"Sam," he said, and Sam brought over a bottle of Gatorade. He removed the lid and handed it to me.

My hands were shaking, and Mr. Winchester steadied them as I took a drink.

I handed Sam the bottle, and he put the lid back on.

"You want to lay back down?" Mr. Winchester asked.

"No, be with you," I put my arms around him again.

"I've got to get the sheets into the laundry," he said, looking down at me.

"I'll do it, Dad, it's okay," Sam said.

Mr. Winchester shifted me, and I clung to him. "Wanna stay with you, Papa Bear. Safe with you," I murmured.

He chuckled, low in his chest, and I felt it. "All right, I'll sit with you," he said.

I buried my face in his flannel chest and closed my eyes.

Dean and I both had one more big bout of vomiting. At night my fever would go up, and I would have disjointed dreams and wake up sweating and shaking. Dean had bad dreams too, I heard him muttering and crying out in his sleep sometimes.

I woke up at one point with a bad headache. I could hear what sounded like the metallic clinking of weapons being moved around.

I heard Mr. Winchester talking, "I'll take these and see if I can get a good price on them. If a pawn shop won't give me what I want, I know of a couple hunters in the area who'll look at them. If the clerk bothers you again, tell him he'll get his money tomorrow."

"Okay, Dad," Sam said.

I heard the door opening and closing, and then I drifted back to sleep.

A knocking on the door startled me awake. I opened my eyes and sat up as Sam walked over to the door. He opened it a couple of inches. "Yes?"

I couldn't hear what the person outside was saying.

"Sir, my family is still sick...yes, I know you want more of a deposit...I told you-" Sam glanced back at me, and then opened the door and stepped outside.

I looked over at the other bed. Dean's eyes were open, and he looked at me. "Where's Dad?" he asked.

"He went out," I told him.

Dean rolled over and sat up, looking worried. "I need to talk to him...I had a dream-" he swallowed uneasily, "I need to see him, make sure he's all right-"

I got out of bed and went over to his bed, sitting down facing him. "It's okay, Dean," I put my arms around him. He hugged me back and rested his head on my shoulder.

"It'll be okay, Dad will be back soon," I said softly to him. Dean sighed and I felt his shoulders relax.

The voices outside were raised now. The door opened suddenly and Sam came in quickly, shutting the door hard.

"Stupid son of a bitch," he muttered, and then he looked over at us. "Hey," he came over to the bed, "How are you both feeling?"

Dean let me go and sat up. "M'okay, where's Dad?"

Sam looked uneasy. "Well...the credit cards are maxed out, so he went out to try and sell some stuff. The manager's been bugging us about a security deposit because of how sick you guys were. I think one of the maids told him the room was messy or something."

"Oh...sorry," I said.

"Don't worry about it, it's not your fault. You guys didn't get sick on purpose, you know?" Sam smiled at me.

Dean scratched his head and ran his hand through his hair. "Well, I'm feelin' mostly better. I wanna take a shower, and I'm actually hungry."

"I can make you some soup," Sam said.

"I don't want soup. I want a burger and fries and a beer," Dean grinned.

"Dean, that's not a good idea, you might end up puking again if you eat that."

"I know, but I can't help it if that's what I want!" Dean patted my shoulder, "I'm gonna get up and take a shower."

I moved off of his bed and laid down on the other bed. I felt dizzy and out of it. He walked over to his duffle and got out some clothes, and then went into the bathroom.

We were sitting on the sofa watching a John Wayne movie when the door opened. Mr. Winchester came in carrying a white paper bag. "Sam, I brought some dinner- oh, you're both up."

Dean got up and walked over to him, grabbing him in a hug.

"Dean, what's-" Mr. Winchester said.

Dean began to talk to him in a low voice, clutching at his jacket.

"It's all right, Dean, it's in the past," Mr. Winchester said quietly, "I know, son, it's okay," he patted Dean's back and hugged him.

Dean let him go and they walked over to us. "How are you feeling, Zan?" Mr. Winchester asked me.

"Still kinda shaky," I told him.

"Dean had 2 cans of soup and a ton of crackers, Zan drank some broth," Sam reported.

"Good. You two still need to take it easy," Mr. Winchester reached into the bag, "Sam, they had a Caesar salad, so I got it for you," he handed Sam a plastic container.

"Thanks, Dad," Sam said.

"Got a cheeseburger in there for me?" Dean joked.

"No, Dean, I think you should wait on that."

"I know, Dad," Dean sat down next to me, sighing.

"If neither of you vomit, and your fevers stay down, I think we should leave tomorrow. I know that you'll still need to rest, but I want to get out of here and away from the jackass manager," Mr. Winchester told us, "Zan, do you feel up to showering?"

"Uh, I guess," I said.

After I showered I felt worn out. I dressed in clean pajamas and laid down in bed.

Mr. Winchester came over and leaned down. "You feeling okay?"

"Just tired now," I yawned.

"All right, get some sleep," he said. I reached out and put my arms around him, and he hugged me back.

"Night, Papa Bear," I whispered.

He let me go and I laid down, and then he pulled the covers up to my shoulders. I fell asleep listening to them talk.

~ ~ spn ~ ~ spn ~ ~

We had spent the past couple of days on the road. Dean was better, but I was still feeling weak and shaky. I still wasn't able to eat a lot, and spent a lot of time dozing in the back seat while we were traveling. The motels we stopped at in the evenings had all blurred together for me. Even though I didn't do much, I was still exhausted by the time we got a room, and I slept heavily every night.

The area we had stopped in tonight was "a tourist trap" according to Mr. Winchester. There were lots of brightly lit restaurants, bars, and shops.

The three of them had gone out tonight to play pool. Dean told me that that was one way that they got money sometimes, and if the three of them went together, but then acted like they weren't together, they could trick people by betting against each other and make more money that way. I didn't quite understand it.

I had found a channel showing Disney movies and was watching the one about all the dalmatians when someone banged on the door. I startled and cried out.

"Jenny! Jenny, talk to me!" a man yelled, and banged on the door again. The doorknob rattled, and my stomach twisted with nerves.

"Jenny, c'mon, don't be like that, open up!" he banged on the door again.

I got up and walked cautiously over to the door.

"Jenny, c'mon!" the man yelled, and the doorknob rattled again.

I took a deep breath. "G-go away!" I shouted.

"Jenny? Babe?" the man called.

"No! No, there's no one named Jenny here, go away!" I yelled.

"C'mon, babe, open up!"

"I told you there's no Jenny here!" I yelled, "Go away!"

I held my breath to see what he would do. I heard footsteps, and it was quiet. I exhaled, my shoulders slumping with relief, and went back over to the sofa. I felt on edge now, worried that the man would come back. What if he broke into the room? What if he got a manager to come in and they saw me here alone?

The movie ended, and then the movie about the talking toys started. I hummed along to the opening theme. Iz had liked that song and used to try to sing it, but she hadn't known most of the words.

There was banging on the door, louder this time. "Jenny!" the man shouted, "I know you're in there! Come on!"

I didn't know what to do. The man sounded angry now, and it scared me.

He banged on the door again. "C'mon, don't be a bitch, open up!"

The doorknob rattled, and then there was a loud crash against the door. "Open the fucking door!" the man yelled. The doorknob rattled again harder.

"Jenny-" he said in an anguished voice. Then there was more loud pounding. He wouldn't stop, for a long time.

I covered my ears with my hands, trying to block out the sound, my stomach twisting in knots.

Finally it stopped. "I'll be back, bitch," the man said loudly.

I stood up. I felt panicked- what would he do if he came back again? I hurried across the room, to the dresser where the duffles were, and rifled through one of them, finding a .22 buried amidst the flannels and jeans.

I walked back over to the sofa and sat down with the gun in my hands. If the guy came back and tried to break in I'd be ready for him.

I picked up the remote and flipped through the channels, trying to find something else to watch to distract myself. I found one of the old-fashioned Godzilla movies that Dean liked and watched that, but it was boring.

I felt myself getting tired. I wanted to stay alert, stay awake in case the guy came back, but all the adrenaline I had felt earlier was gone.

I woke up with a jerk when I heard the key in the lock. Right away my nerves jumped, and I felt confused for a moment about where I was.

I could hear someone talking on the other side of the door- had they called out 'house-keeping'? Oh no-

I leapt up and rushed over towards the door—I was gonna be ready this time—no-one was gonna hurt me again-I planted my feet wide, dropped my shoulder like Mr. Winchester had showed me, and held the gun up as the door swung open.

"-thought that skinny guy was gonna kick your-" Dean was saying as he came into the room.

Sam saw me first, and he got a shocked look on his face."Zan!" he said loudly, putting his hands up.

Dean turned his head towards me and his eyes widened.

Mr. Winchester came in behind them. "What the hell are you doing?" he barked.


	30. Try to Run, Try to Hide

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: I've recently been diagnosed with a rare condition called Gastroparesis. It's where the stomach muscles don't work as well and food does not get digested properly. I have to change my diet and the way I eat and am only supposed to eat foods that are easily digestable from now on. I'm still figuring out what I can and can't eat, and dealing with nausea, stomach pain, and GERD on a daily basis. I've lived with several chronic illnesses for over a decade, so I'm used to dealing with this type of thing, and I'll admit that I am disabled and proud. But this is very frustrating and more than a little daunting and GP can have serious health repercussions like malnutrition or anemia.**

 **So that's one reason of many that I haven't been writing, or publishing, as much. I've spent a lot of time driving back and forth to specialists and getting tests done, and when you live with chronic pain and chronic illnesses, going to an appointment, even if it's to see a doctor, can be exhausting. Writing and reading fanfic is one of my respites from all my health stuff, but I haven't had much energy lately beyond caring for myself and my family. I'm hoping that once I get my diet figured out and am dealing with food better I'll have more energy and time to devote to writing again.**

~ ~ spn ~ ~ spn ~ ~ spn ~ ~

I lowered the gun, realizing that I was shaking. "I—I- this g-guy, he was bangin' on the door an' calling for someone, h-he kept doin' it, even th-though I told him he was at the wrong room! I—I got scared!" Tears came to my eyes.

Dean stepped forward, annoyance on his face. "That's my .22, what the hell, kid? Did you go through my bag?"

"Yeah, uh, yessir," I whispered, blushing.

Mr. Winchester came over to me, yanking the gun out of my hand, and checked it. "It's not even loaded," he handed it to Dean, and frowned at me. "Are you supposed to be messing with weapons? What did I tell you before?" He grabbed my arm.

"I—I-" I stuttered, my stomach twisting with fear.

His voice was deep with anger, "You do _not_ just grab a gun because you're scared, and start walking around with it! That's how people get injured or _killed!"_ He gave me a shake, and then turned me, landing a couple of hard swats on my butt.

I stumbled forward, and burst into tears. I had been so scared before, and now they were mad at me. "M'sorry!" I exclaimed, "I was worried, that guy, he- he came back, an' I thought- I was scared he was g-gonna break into the room! I—I was scared he was gonna-" I couldn't finish the sentence. I felt tears drip down my cheeks, and swiped at my face.

"Sorry doesn't cut it when you do something dangerous!" Mr. Winchester's voice was louder and angrier, and he pulled me closer to him.

"Dad!" Dean stepped forward and put his hand on Mr. Winchester's other arm, "I get why she was so freaked out, you didn't see that guy—before-" he made a choked noise and stopped, his face getting red.

Mr. Winchester let me go, and I heard him sigh. He turned to the side, and his face became red. He closed his eyes for a moment and put his hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose, then he put his hand down and left the room without looking at any of us. The door closed hard after him.

I looked up at Sam and Dean in a panic. "Where—where's he goin'?"

"He just needs to calm down," Dean said.

"He—he's mad- he's so mad at me he—he couldn't even l-look at- m-me! I—I'm just a f-fuck up!" I covered my face with my hands.

Someone touched my shoulder and I flinched, expecting to be hit, and cried out.

It was Sam. He put his arms around me."Shh, it's okay," he said gently.

"No it's n-not!" I pulled back and looked up at him, "I f-fucked up a-again, an' I de—deserve to have my ass k-kicked!"

"No you don't," Sam said. He led me over to the sofa, and sat us down, pulling me down onto his lap and putting his arms around me again, "I get why you were freaked out, and I'm sorry that happened."

"No, no, I f-fucked up!" I sobbed, "I—I shouldn't've gone in the duffle b-bag, you g-gotta k-kick my ass!"

"No, Zan, that's not going to happen," Dean said firmly, "I'm gonna go find Dad, talk to him." He left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

I couldn't stop crying. Sam tried to soothe me, rubbing my back and talking to me quietly. "Shh, it's all right. You're safe now. You were really brave, you know that? You're a pretty brave kid for all the things you've been through. But you don't have to worry any more, because you're with us, and we're going to watch over you, and take care of you. It's okay, Zan, shh."

All the nervousness and fear I had felt drained out of my again, and I felt exhausted all of a sudden. I leaned my head on Sam's chest and closed my eyes.

I heard the door open and close, and looked up. Mr. Winchester came over to us, followed by Dean.

Mr. Winchester didn't look angry any more, his face was concerned and upset. "Zan, I'm sorry," he said, "I'm the one that screwed up here, not you. I keep—I keep thinking that you're like the boys were, and you're not," he sighed heavily, "You've had a different past than they did, and you're not going to act like them. And you- you were- assaulted- not less than two weeks ago. I shouldn't have left you alone like that, and I'm sorry. You were only trying to protect yourself, and I get that. We'll help you feel safe, all right?"

"M'sorry, I fu—screwed up, m'sorry I was bad-"tears filled my eyes again.

"You're not bad, you're just a mixed up kid," he said gently. He stepped over to the sofa and held his hands out. "Come here."

I took his hands and he pulled me to a standing position, and then picked me up. "Let's get you settled in bed." He walked over to the bed closest to the bathroom and leaned over to put me down.

I clung to him. "No, stay," I pleaded, "Stay here with me, for a little while...please?"

"All right." he sat down and put me on his lap. I slid my arms around him and buried my face in his flannel. His leather jacket was cold against my skin but I didn't care. He put his arms around me and I felt his hand stroking the back of my head.

"I'm sorry I swatted you," he said quietly, "I reacted out of fear and anger, like I did when the boys were little. I was afraid of you hurting yourself, and I- it's the same kind of feeling you get when your three year old runs into the street after a ball and you see a car coming. All you can think of is your kid getting injured or worse and then you get angry because they did something dangerous."

"I ran away from my mom in a parking lot once and almost got run over by a motorcycle. She spanked me," I told him.

"Really?" he shifted and looked down at me, "I can't imagine you doing something like that."

"It was before Iz, Mom said I was a-a real little hellion, I used to throw tantrums too."

He chuckled. "Now _that,_ I can't believe."

"She said after Iz was born, it was like a switch flipped, and all I wanted after that was to take care of the baby, and I didn't misbehave any more."

"I'm sure you were a good big sister," he chuckled again and I felt it in his chest, "You're a good kid, Zan."

I looked down, feeling embarrassed. "No m'not," I muttered.

"Yes, you are," he said firmly, "I wasn't too sure about taking someone in, but I'm glad you're with us. You're a good girl."

A feeling surged up in me, and after a second I realized what it was. I had felt only fear and hatred for my father, but I had loved my mother. She had cared for me and protected me, like Mr. Winchester did. The feeling I was feeling now was the same way I felt for her. I wanted to say it, to tell him how I felt, but I was too nervous. I buried my face in his shirt again and muttered, "Thanks for takin' care of me even though m' a big pain in the ass."

"Hey, you're not a pain in the ass," he said firmly, "and watch your mouth." He tapped my nose. He began to rub his hand up and down my back, and I felt myself starting to fall asleep.

"Let's get you into bed now," he said, lifting me up and tucking me under the covers. As I was drifitng off I felt him kiss my forehead.

All of us slept late the next morning, and had to rush to get packed up before check-out time. Mr. Winchester said we could get breakfast and take our time since we were close to Pastor Jim's.

We followed his truck to a diner and went inside. The smell of freshly-baked pies was in the air as we sat down in a booth.

When the waitress came to take our orders, Dean said, "I want to get a slice of pie, too,"

Mr. Winchester raised his eyebrow. "Pie for breakfast, Dean?"

"It smells so good, can we?" I asked.

"Well, okay," Mr. Winchester said, looking at me.

The waitress laughed. "She's got you wrapped, all right."

Mr. Winchester said, "Excuse me?"

She held her hand up, the pinky extended. "She's got you wrapped around her little finger, just like it should be with daddies and their little girls!" She grinned at both of us before walking away.

I started to blush. I looked up, and Sam and Dean were grinning too. Mr. Winchester looked like he was blushing a little bit also, but he was smiling.

"Oh, hey, I got you something," Dean looked at me and reached into an inner pocket of his jacket. He pulled out a small plastic bag and set it on the table in front of me.

Curious, I opened it and pulled out what was inside. It was a small pink plastic box with flowers decorating the surface. I opened it- inside were three cloth headbands in bright colors and three sets of small metal barrettes. They were painted with little flowers and dots, and one set had plastic flowers on them.

I looked up at Dean. "Uh—why'd you, why'd you get this for me?"

"Well, you got your hair cut, and I thought—y'know, you'd like to put barrettes in your hair, I know girls like that kind of sh—stuff," he raised his eyebrows.

"I, uh, I don't know how-" I started to blush again, "I mean, I could do a ponytail in my hair an' Iz's but we never had nothin' like this."

"Here, I'll put a pair of barrettes in, which ones do you like?" Sam asked.

I looked at them, running my finger over them. "I like—the ones with the flowers," I said shyly.

Sam pulled them out and opened them, and then did something to the hair on the side of my head and put the barrette in. He did the other side too. "There," he said with satisfaction.

"How do you know how to do that? You gonna borrow a set for your long hair, Samantha?" Dean smirked.

"Shut up, Dean. Jess had a little cousin, she spent the weekend with us, and I got a crash course in how to do girl's hair," Sam replied defensively.

"It looks cute," Mr. Winchester said, smiling at me.

"Thanks," I felt myself blushing harder, "And thanks, Dean, for getting this for me."

I smiled at him, and now he looked proud. "You're welcome, kiddo."

~ ~ spn ~ ~ spn ~ ~

I got out of the car slowly, feeling nervous and shy. A man was standing on the edge of the porch, and he began walking down the stairs, smiling broadly.

"John!" he said, and the door behind him opened and two large dogs came bounding down the stairs.

All I saw was paws and fur and waving tails, and I panicked.

Sam had bent forward with his hand held out, and one of the dogs trotted over.

"Don't let it get me _don'tletitgetme!"_ I screamed, and burst into tears. I grabbed at somebody in desparation, and heard a voice calling, "Blue! Patch! Heel!"

I felt hands picking me up, and then Dean set me on his hip. I buried my head in his shoulder, shuddering with sobs. He put his arms around me and held me tightly. "Okay, okay, it's all right, I gotcha," he soothed, "You're safe, nothing's gonna hurt you, it's okay...shhh...I gotcha, kiddo, you're all right..."

I felt a hand on my back. "Zan, he put the dogs inside," Mr. Winchester said, "You gonna be okay?"

My chest was hitching as I tried to talk. "I—I- th-the black d-dog c-came at me an', an' I t-t-tried—but I couldn't- it j-jumped on me-" it felt like I was right back there in the clearing, standing there alone and terrified as the beast walked around me, snuffling and growling. Knowing that it could kill me at any second, and also that if I didn't do what my father had told me, he would hit me later-

"Shh, shh," Dean was saying. I heard footsteps and felt motion. I was inside my head but it felt like I was outside it again, just like I had felt in the diner before.

I heard murmured voices for a few minutes, and then silence. A hand was rubbing my back.

"You're safe...you're safe now...it's okay...nothing's going to happen to you now..."

I slowly came back to myself.

I was laying on my side, in a room that looked like a living room, with book shelves and a love seat and a rocking chair. Someone was stroking my hair. I moved me head and looked up. My head was on Dean's lap, and I was covered with a knitted afghan.

He looked down at me and smiled. "You back now?"

I sniffled, and nodded. He helped me sit up, and I wiped my face with my sleeves.

"Pastor Jim put the dogs in another room," Dean told me, "You ready to go meet him?"

"Uh- I—I guess," I said uncertainly. "Will you—will you stay with me?"

Dean smiled at me. "Of course I will, kiddo. C'mon." He stood up and offered me his hand. I got up and took it, and we walked out of the room together.


End file.
